


The Butterfly Effect

by Starrie_Wolf



Series: The Butterfly Effect [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: A lot of worldbuilding, Alternate Identities, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Can be seen as a Fix-It, Extensive research done, Family, Friendship, Gen, In-depth characterisations, Japanese culture and history, Realism, Science and logic applied to a fantasy world, Slow Build, Time Travel, Turn Back The Pendulum, Usually non-graphic, Violence, War leaves scars that never completely heal, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-01-13 06:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 95,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starrie_Wolf/pseuds/Starrie_Wolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Rukia, Renji, Inoue, Chad, everyone… this time, I promise, I’ll defeat Aizen before he destroys all your lives again."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Watashi o danko toshite kyozetsu suru!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watashi o danko toshite kyozetsu suru!（私を断固として拒絶する！） i.e. I absolutely refuse to accept!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **All additional trigger warnings will be listed at the END of the relevant chapter IN BOLD to prevent spoilers. This chapter contains multiple main character deaths and semi-graphic violent injuries. Please, if you feel you have any triggers at all, click on the "See the end of the work for more notes." first.**  
>     
> Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Bleach universe. The plot and all OCs are another matter.
> 
> First published on FanFiction.Net in Feb 2010 and new chapters will continue to be cross-posted. Rewritten while taking note of the Fullbring & Thousand-Year Blood War arcs.
> 
> First conceived halfway through the Fake Karakura Town Arc in the manga, originally as a one-shot that has spawned an entire backstory of its own i.e. this whole fic. As a result, plays fast and loose with canon that occurs afterwards.
> 
> Very slow updates, but will never be abandoned.

The war was over. Aizen had won.

Nineteen-year-old Ichigo stared pensively up at the sky, sprawled on the ground outside Urahara Shōten.

A stabilised Garganta in the sky allowed Hollows to come and go as they pleased, terrorising the residents, and there was nothing he could do. Even if he could purify all the Hollows, there was nowhere to send them. Soul Society had been completely destroyed, the entire _world_ merged into Hueco Mundo. Karakura Town, indeed any town left at all in the real world, was literally a ghost town.

What was all his training for?

All his power, all for naught. So what if he could materialise his Hollow Mask at will, and keep it on for as long as he had reiatsu left? So what if he had come to a truce with his inner Hollow, who had agreed to fight alongside his King? So what if he could defeat the Primera Espada single-handedly?

No matter what he did, Aizen was always ahead of him.

He had failed them. He had sworn to protect them, and he had failed them.

Ever since the overlord had gotten his hands on the King’s Key, the resistance had stood no chance. The last of them, if they even could be termed a resistance at all, had gone into hiding behind Urahara Shōten’s extensive wards. The last haven safe from Aizen’s clutches, thanks to Tessai.

It was all his fault. The deaths of his friends, the way his father stopped smiling, Yuzu’s new ability to see spirits, Karin’s tears, the haunted look that never left Yoruichi-san’s eyes nowadays...

They had all lost the ones closest to them. They had all blamed themselves in some way. And they had all found different ways to cope.

Yoruichi had developed an aversion to bees and spent more time in her cat form than human form nowadays. No one saw Kisuke for weeks on end when he cloistered himself in his laboratory and worked himself to the bone to find a new way, _any_ way to kill Aizen. Isshin talked compulsively to the poster of Masaki – the only item to survive the bombing of the Kurosaki Clinic.

Ichigo – Ichigo laid on the grass and stared up at the sky wondering what he could have done differently.

If only he had become stronger _faster_ , become stronger before Aizen had a chance to destroy everything he held precious, none of that would have happened. He was the only one who could match Aizen, the only one not caught in his zanpakutō’s illusions.

Four fully-fledged shinigami and an odd motley crew against the new Soul King and his army of minions.

It was clear that the war was over.

But could he really sit and wait for death? After all the people who had sacrificed their lives for him?

“Ichi-nii,” called Yuzu, appearing at the door of the Shōten and interrupting his musings, “dinner is ready.”

“I’m not hungry,” Ichigo replied without thinking, still caught in the “what if”s.

Instantly, his sister’s face crumpled. Ichigo hastily changed his mind, standing up and dusting himself off. Yuzu cooked compulsively. It was her way of coping with the war, and Ichigo had no intention of disparaging it.

Then the world exploded.

Ichigo threw himself in Yuzu’s direction as the roof shook violently. Before he could reach her, however, the ground rocked again and the walls folded, sending the roof crashing down. Ichigo cried out sharply as he hit the ground, splinters of wood cutting into the arms he instinctively brought up to protect his face.

Silence, save for the debris settling around him.

Lying face-down on the ground and breathless, Ichigo tried to extend his reiatsu to see if it was an ambush. He found no Arrancar presence, which reassured him enough to check his immediate surroundings next.

There was a weight lying over him and sticky fluid was soaking into his hakama. Blood. But if he was bleeding, why was there no pain? And for that matter, the weight on top of him was too cold to be simply wood from a broken piece of furniture. It was almost as if…

Ichigo slowly turned his head to the right to meet golden irises. “Yo, aibō,” his inner Hollow rasped, almost immediately coughing up more blood.

Specks of black hit Ichigo’s cheek but he did not flinch. “Why?” he whispered numbly, “Why did you save me?”

Hichigo coughed again, the familiar grin appearing on his face. “Maa, a Horse needs his King. Anyway, I’m the one with all the instant regeneration.”

When he had been fifteen, had anyone told him that his Hollow could be self-sacrificing and _rational_ , Ichigo would have recommended them to the nearest asylum. That was before he had held the Hōgyoku in his own hands, trying to get the orb away from Aizen, and it had thrown the last of its power into him. Ever since then, instead of an inner Hollow, the more accurate term would be an inner Arrancar. Complete with a Resurreción, though Hichigo still preferred to swing his white Zangetsu around. Fitting, given that had his mother not been Hollowfied, Hichigo would have been his zanpakutō spirit.

Footsteps sounded. A few seconds later, hands gently lifted the weight off. Ignoring the pained groan from his Arrancar, Ichigo twisted around and sat up, gingerly taking Hichigo into his arms, trying not to exacerbate the pain the other must be feeling. “Thank you,” he whispered to his white counterpart, whose hakama was stained nearly totally black with blood. Hichigo shot him a lopsided smirk, closed his eyes and vanished in a spray of reishi particles.

“Are you all right, Ichigo?” Shihōin Yoruichi asked, crouched in front of him, in human form for once. Absently, Ichigo registered that she must have just assumed human form to help get Hichigo off him, for she was not wearing anything – but he had long become accustomed to it and no longer freaked out as much as he used to at age fifteen. There were far more important things to worry about than nudity when you were doing your best to keep someone alive _just for a moment longer_ , buried up to your elbows in their abdomen. Between maintaining someone’s modesty and saving her life – you cannot defibrillate a woman in a bra, not even Urahara Kisuke has invented such a device yet – no one would pick the former. He had personally seen Isshin rip someone’s shihakusho open to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation, manually forcing her heart to beat, long enough for one of their preciously few healers to arrive. Hell, there were times he himself had been carried back, unconscious and reiatsu almost non-existent, his shihakusho nothing more than tattered strips barely clinging to him.

“Aa,” Ichigo answered, picking the splinters out of his arm and turning his head to the shop front. “What about Yu –” the words died in his throat.

Isshin was several steps away, eyes transfixed on what had formerly been the doorway of Urahara Shōten.

Yuzu was in a tiny ball, arms wrapped around her head. Ichigo could almost believe she had survived the explosion, had there not been several long pieces of wood digging into – into her… he turned away, unable to continue looking, only to spot Karin.

His other sister had one hand outstretched towards Yuzu, face twisted in pain. She had obviously tried to do the same thing Ichigo had wanted to, but had no inner Hollow to protect her from the flying debris. Even as he stared in mounting horror, Karin’s spirit shattered into reishi particles and disappeared.

Bare feet padded hurriedly across the ground, skidding to a stop. They stopped. In the silence, the sharp sucking in of breath was deafening.

“Kisuke,” Isshin murmured, almost pleasantly, “if that’s one of your experiments gone wrong I’m going to kill you.” His father’s reiatsu had been climbing steadily throughout the speech, hand shifting to Engetsu’s hilt, and for a moment it appeared as though he would attack regardless of Kisuke’s reply.

“It’s not,” Urahara Kisuke replied, equally quietly, grey eyes for once not drooping in exhaustion. Some small part of Ichigo, the part not numb with shock at the sight of both his sisters’ deaths, was surprised. Kisuke had obviously gotten some sleep recently, a feat he thought the former shopkeeper no longer capable of. He was about to inquire after the change when –

“Sa-SADO-KUN!” came Orihime’s panicked voice.

Ichigo was not aware of when he started running, only that he was, running towards her voice. _Not Chad. Please. No._

The scene he stumbled on stopped him in shock.

Chad was sprawled on the ground, left arm buried in the chest of an Arrancar. The same kind that had killed Ishida Uryū. Its ability to mask reiatsu was probably how it got past the wards around Urahara Shōten in the first place. Tessai would have to upgrade –

No, Tessai was dead, killed in a skirmish last week.

Shaking his head sharply to dispel the images that featured most prominently in his latest nightmares, Ichigo focused on the present.

Orihime had stopped screaming, and was simply rocking back and forth, hands fluttering in agitation as an orange dome briefly enveloped Chad before disappearing. For all her powers, she could not bring the dead back to life, and the Shun Shun Rikka knew that.

“Kurosaki-kun!” she exclaimed, jerking her head up. It was her eyes that drew his attention, eyes filled with helplessness and despair and _terror_.

“Inoue,” Ichigo murmured, because there was nothing else he could say.

His voice appeared to break her out of the horrified staring, and she crumpled onto Chad’s chest, sobbing hysterically. “Why wasn’t I strong enough? Fast enough? I could have blocked it, could have done something…” Hands clutched weakly at her hairpins, pulling them free.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ichigo started, kneeling beside her and stretching out a hand to comfort her.

Through her muffled weeping he could barely hear her next words. “I… I regret not being able to do anything…”

“Ichigo!”

Ichigo had barely a moment to realise something was very, _very_ wrong when Orihime screamed, her head snapping backwards, and for the first time he took in the chain dangling from her chest. The broken chain.

Then her reiatsu _mutated_.

Ichigo threw himself backwards, eyes wide with horror as the Hollow – Inoue, this was _Inoue_ – swiped blindly at him with new too-sharp claws. His awkward former position afforded him little balance as he toppled over, barely putting any distance between them. Ichigo fumbled for Zangetsu, already knowing he would never manage to raise the zanpakutō in time.

“Nake, Benihime.”

Claws scrabbled off a blood-red shield, a fraction of a second away from ripping off his arm.

Then Kisuke was suddenly in front of him, blocking Hollow-Orihime’s frenzied attacks, while Yoruichi – who had yelled his name earlier – was dragging him out of the way because his legs were too numb to move.

How could he have missed Orihime’s soul chain earlier?

“She… she _regretted_ …” _strongly enough to turn her into a Hollow_ , he wanted to say, but the words were stuck in his throat, lost in the turmoil of emotions threatening to claw their way out of his chest.

“Is there any chance she might become a Visored?” Ichigo asked, clinging on to the last shred of hope he had.

In response, Yoruichi simply gave him a small, sad smile, eyes fixed on Kisuke’s back and the newborn Hollow.

“But she has reiatsu too and… and –” Ichigo trailed off, unable to finish his half-hearted protest. Orihime had never been a shinigami, and thus she could not become a Visored. His mind knew that, but his heart could not bear to accept it, not when that would mean the last two of his friends were truly gone.

“ _Why_?” he managed breathlessly.

Silence met his rhetorical question, only broken by the sounds of Benihime against claws. Ichigo blinked, his attention finally focusing on the pair now that he belatedly realised that the battle had been going on far too long. He identified the reason a moment later: Kisuke was merely defending, not attacking. He turned a questioning gaze on Yoruichi.

“She reminds him too much of Hiyori,” murmured Yoruichi, gaze never leaving the duo.

Suddenly Ichigo understood. The reason why Kisuke always did his best to dissuade Orihime from participating in the battle, why he refused to spar with the girl, why even now he could not bring himself to attack the Hollow she had become. “He blames himself for her death,” he whispered.

Yoruichi said nothing, eyes riveted on Kisuke.

Hollow-Orihime growled again, one paw crashing into the blood-red shield Kisuke called up in time.

“And she is your friend,” Isshin spoke up and Ichigo jumped. He had not even sensed his father approach. “She deserves to have you look her in the eye.”

Kisuke tilted his head sideways, one grey eye searching out Ichigo with unerring accuracy. A hint of emotion flashed through the visible eye, an emotion that Ichigo recognised.

Pain.

He saw it in the mirror every day.

Kisuke was suffering just as much as everyone else. The man had jumped in to save Ichigo from a possibly fatal blow, but in doing so he had forced himself to raise his zanpakutō against someone he had failed to protect. The reminder of someone else whom he had failed.

In that split second Ichigo knew what to do. His hand scrabbled blindly for Zangetsu’s hilt, swinging it down at the geta-bōshi’s back.

“Getsuga Tenshō!”

With a quick burst of shunpo Kisuke flitted to the side, allowing the weak version of the attack to smash right into Hollow-Orihime. She screeched in surprise, one clawed hand flying up to touch her mask, which was already crumbling at the edges.

The mask took an eternity to shatter, each broken fragment revealing more of Orihime’s tear-stained face.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, still clutching her hairpins as she dissolved. “I wish this had never happened.”

And the world spun out of focus.

~*~*~*~

_Back when there were more of them, they had taken the battle to Hueco Mundo. All the seated officers of the Eleventh Division had volunteered to be part of the assault. They charged at the front, Kenpachi in the lead, Yachiru as always on his shoulder. “The one who kills the most of those bastards gets treated to all-you-can-drink sake!” he had yelled to the wildly cheering division._

~*~

_A flash of red. A spray of blood._

_In the midst of the chaos darted a tiny figure, whose speed and agility enabled her to avoid the brunt of the Arrancars’ blows._

_Any who ever questioned Kenpachi’s decision to promote Yachiru to fukutaichō had all of their doubts erased when her reiatsu exploded around her, painting the surroundings scarlet._

~*~*~*~

Kenpachi, Yachiru, Ikkaku… Ichigo had to watch them fall.

~*~*~*~

_“BANKAI!”_

_Thousands of vines erupted from the ground, wrapping around the Arrancar army. They screamed and writhed, fighting desperately to get out of the bindings, which drained them of all their strength._

_Flowers unfurled their blood-red petals, blooming wildly._

_Then the reiatsu stored in the vines detonated._

_“YUMICHIKA!”_

_“Heh… I win.”_

~*~

_Yamamoto-soutaichō, who had sought out Aizen right at the beginning of the invasion, was not faring much better. They had been locked in a stalemate for so long, even after both had released their bankai. Ryūjin Jakka lived up to its name, burning away all but the illusions created by Kyoka Suigetsu._

_The soutaichō was concentrating so hard on breaking the deadlock that he failed to notice a sneak shot by a tiny Arrancar in his blind spot._

~*~*~*~

Following his victory in Hueco Mundo, Aizen pressed his attack to Soul Society itself, backed by newly-initiated Espada.

~*~*~*~

_Long-time friends Ukitake Jyūshirō and Kyōraku Shunsui fought back-to-back, flanked by their respective fukutaichō. Twin pairs of zanpakutō flashed in unison, until the new Arrancar scientist released a cloud of acidic smoke. Jyūshirō had fallen to his knees in a coughing fit, blood splattering across his hand. In an attempt to block an incoming attack, Shunsui had thrown himself over his best friend._

_Twin pairs of zanpakutō fell._

~*~

_“Nel-sama!”_

_“I want to protect them too. Pesche, Dondachakka, you’re free to leave if you want.”_

_The two Fracción stuck by her, even when Aizen personally made sure she would serve as a warning to any other Arrancar who dared to even entertain the thought of betraying him._

_Someone had the time and inclination to find a way to preserve souls before they dissolved into reishi particles after death._

~*~

_Ganju and Kūkakū led Soul Society’s last line of defence, fighting to protect their home. Fireworks mixed with Raikōhō and Hiryū Gekizoku Shinten Raihō exploded in the faces of the advancing Arrancar with unerring accuracy, dealing incomparable damage._

_For a moment it even appeared as if Soul Society would succeed, until Hueco Mundo smashed into it and forcibly absorbed the entire world._

~*~*~*~

They moved to the Transient World, but Aizen was relentless in his pursuit, with no regard for the Espada who were by then replaced almost daily.

~*~*~*~

_“Taichō, watch out!”_

_A deafening crash. Ichigo turned his head just in time to see a whole section of buildings collapse on where the Tenth Division had formerly been fighting._

_Above the ground, Hyōrinmaru suddenly gave an agonizing howl and shattered into pieces._

_Somewhere, Ichigo was sure, hell had just frozen over._

~*~

_All other battles ceased as Ichimaru Gin, formerly known as Aizen Sōsuke’s right-hand man, spun around and sank his zanpakutō to the hilt into Aizen’s chest._

_“Gin-kun, how did you…”_

_“You think you can keep me under your thumb forever?” snarled the silver-haired man, blazing blue eyes fully open for the first time in many shinigami’s memories, as he yanked Shinsō out savagely. “Ya shouldn'a touched Rangiku.”_

_Aizen shook his head, almost sadly, as if he were scolding a recalcitrant child._

_“Korose, Kamishini no Yari!”_

_“Such a pity, Gin-kun… if only you never woke up…”_

~*~

_Unohana Retsu, who had been focused on mass-healing the badly injured, was caught off-guard when several of the highest ranked Espada collaborated to fire one single massive cero at her bankai._

_She did not survive._

~*~

_Suì-Fēng, who had flung herself in front of an attack meant for Yoruichi, smiled as her zanpakutō fell from her lifeless hands._

~*~*~*~

The losses were not only restricted to the shinigami. The difference was that Aizen could retaliate by creating more Arrancar, with different, _dangerous_ new powers.

~*~*~*~

_While walking home from the store, Ishida Uryū was caught by surprise by an Arrancar with the ability to enact a shield with properties similar to sekkiseki._

_By the time anyone felt his reiatsu, it was too late._

~*~

_Ishida Ryūken, mad with grief, painted the sky blue with reiatsu arrows for three days and three nights straight. Several Vasto Lorde numbered amongst his countless kills before he succumbed to the toll it took on his body._

_As the survivors quipped with respect, hell hath no fury like a Quincy scorned._

~*~

_Ichigo arrived home to see Renji sprawled across the doorstep, red hair spilling out of his hair tie like a macabre complement to the blood liberally painted over his – torture, those were signs of torture – body, his hakama in shreds and a zanpakutō buried in his chest. His gigai had been slumped protectively over the immobile forms of Yuzu and Karin._

_In a fit of blind rage, Ichigo had attacked the Arrancar responsible. It was only after he had ripped all three of them physically apart that he realised that Yuzu was still conscious and Karin lay in a shihakusho, her real body bifurcated._

_Yuzu could see spirits from then onwards._

~*~

_It was supposed to be a simple mission. Run interference, raid Aizen’s temporary base in Karakura Town, and get out._

_Nothing ever went to plan, as the destruction of that base triggered a stabilised Garganta to open and out poured thousands of Arrancar led by the latest Espada._

_Ichigo was separated from the other Visored almost immediately._

_“Lisa! Behind you!” Love shrieked._

_Bankai, being such a reiatsu leech, was never meant to be used for long._

_Ichigo reached out, trying to blast the wall of Hollows between them out of his way, trying to do anything to get to the rest of them as one by one, they let go of their bankai. The last Visored’s reiatsu spiked once, twice, then plummeted._

_Somehow, even while falling Shinji managed to catch Ichigo’s eye. A pained look flitted across his face as he mouthed, “Farewell.”_

_The Hollows swarmed._

~*~*~*~

_“Watashi wa danko toshite kyozetsu suru!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art to go with this chapter (I don't think it needs to be said that none of these are mine). Not actually inspired by them; usually I stumble across these after I've written the chapter already and feel like scrolling through some Bleach art on tumblr.  
> [Inoue Orihime](http://flyingplumtree.tumblr.com/post/78927013262/spirit-bombed-this-time-i-will-protect)  
> [Bleach in 10 minutes, featuring all the best battle scenes and inspirational quotes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RalX2F_vWCk)


	2. Machigai nai, kore ga genjitsu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Machigai nai, kore ga genjitsu（間違いない、これが現実）i.e. Without a doubt, this is reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Zephyrus Genesis, whose help has been invaluable in this rewrite.
> 
> In Japanese, how you address someone else is very telling of your opinion of the other person and your relationship. All inter-personal relationships addressed here are canon.

Kisuke caught himself before he hit the ground, springing into a crouch borne of centuries of ingrained training from his time in the Onmitsukidō, Benihime already unsheathed and a kidō ready on his lips. Though she made no sound, he felt Yoruichi’s tightly-controlled reiatsu flare aggressively somewhere behind him, signalling her position.

Only then did he take in his surroundings.

Kisuke drew in a sharp breath, and heard Yoruichi do the same.

“It couldn’t be –” he stuttered brokenly, stumbling shakily forwards to press a hand against cool stone, exactly the way he had built it over a hundred years ago. Here was the piece his clumsy adolescent fingers could never chip right, there was that group of rocks veined in minerals, that he had spent months painstakingly carving into the kanji for their names and then set into a bed of opal.

He sank to his knees and traced the familiar characters that he could have written in his sleep, and sometimes still saw in his dreams. Coal for Urahara Kisuke. Amethyst for Shihōin Yoruichi. Jadeite for Tsukabishi Tessai.

_It felt real._

That was what complete hypnosis would have him believe.

At the stray thought, Kisuke jerked upright again so fast that his vision swam.

His secret training grounds in Seireitei was gone together with the rest of Soul Society, forcibly absorbed into Hueco Mundo. He had barely escaped through a hastily-erected Senkaimon with his life; indeed, half of his dark green haori did not survive that final trip.

He wanted to believe, wanted to believe so badly that Soul Society, his _home_ for centuries, had somehow been resurrected…

But no, that way lay madness.

Just like how the dead could not be brought back to life, Soul Society would never exist again. How like Aizen, to so effortlessly taunt and torture with one decisive blow.

He would not fall for it.

Breathing deeply and forcibly wrenching the most violent of his reactions under control, Kisuke nevertheless felt the slow burn of his rage creep up on him. In response, he loosened the tight hold on his reiatsu. Let Aizen taste the bitter fury. Let him feel the bloodlust. Let him _writhe in the eight depths of Hell where nothing in any world will ever be befouled by him again –_

“Kisuke?”

Yoruichi-san.

She walked, unafraid, into the maelstrom of his reiatsu and laid a hand on his arm, heedless of the powerful winds tearing at her.

Aizen cannot have her.

“Tell me something only Yoruichi-san will know.” Tone icy, he did not look at her.

Aizen could not recreate what he had never known. It was the sole weakness of the complete hypnosis technique, a weakness that had cost Soul Society far too many people they could not afford to lose to expose, but it was the only certainty in the abyss of lies perpetuated by the megalomaniac who had had over a century to amass his arsenal of knowledge. His army of camera flies had ensured that privacy had been a myth.

She stood on her tip-toes and whispered something into his ear.

~*~*~*~

Confident in his ability to mimic every shinigami with at least shikai in the Gotei Thirteen, Aizen had sown the seeds of discord far and wide, pitting ally against ally, friend against friend, lover against lover. They would have lost the war that day in Hueco Mundo, were it not for one individual.

“Yay, Ken-chan is playing with Byakushi!”

Stunned by the shout, for a single moment, Aizen’s perfect mask had cracked. An eerie silence fell over the battlefield as opponents eyed each other warily.

“Well, where’s that Aizen-teme then?” the newly-revealed Kenpachi growled.

Huffing slightly, the little girl pointed without hesitation to someone whom by all means she _should_ have taken to be Ukitake Jūshirō. “Over there, can’t you tell?”

“How can _you_ tell?” demanded Ikkaku.

She blinked oddly at him. “He doesn’t smell like sugar. Ukki always carries a bag of sweets with him.”

The _one_ person whose intimate knowledge of the Gotei Thirteen surpassed that of Aizen’s, who relied on instinct to identify an enemy, rather than logic and her eyes.

Kusajishi Yachiru.

Aizen had personally made sure she did not survive beyond that day.

~*~*~*~

Kisuke’s reiatsu slammed back into him with the full force of the gales that had been surrounding him, leaving him breathless. There was no mistake, this was not one of Aizen’s illusions. This was the real Yoruichi-san. This was Yoruichi-san and _he had been hurting her_.

She raised an arm and beckoned to him regally, wordlessly requesting that he follow.

He did so, and found himself in front of the healing pool that he had installed in his bid to replicate the rejuvenative hot springs in Kirinji Tenjirō’s domain. She dipped an arm into the water, then lifted it out to show him the rapidly healing cuts.

“Aizen does not know of this secret training ground. The only ones who knew of its existence, other than the three of us, were Abarai Renji and Kurosaki Ichigo.” Her voice was calm, an unwavering anchor in the turbulent ocean of his thoughts.

Kurosaki Ichigo, who would have bitten his own tongue off before he betrayed them, and Abarai Renji, who had allowed himself to be tortured to death to buy time for Ichigo’s sisters rather than abandon them to the Arrancars. They would not have breathed a word of it to anyone else.

Aizen did not know about it.

 _This was real_.

~*~*~*~

A scream rent the air.

Three heads snapped towards the source of the sound, and two figures immediately rushed forwards.

One hung back, eyes narrowing at the little details that caught his eye, mind going into overdrive.

Aizen? No, hypothesis already rejected. Next theory.

Judging from the _intensity_ , if he was mistaken, if he was too late, Ichigo would either go insane from the pain or perish. He shoved that thought, as well as the emotions it evoked, away and lowered the statistical level of significance.

Internal damage? No known injury, no visible blood. Again.

What was he missing?

New observation: visible distortion of reishi particles near extremities. New deduction.

Conclusion.

His mind whirred to a stop.

“Take him this way,” he snapped, breaking into a shunpo-aided run towards his laboratory.

~*~*~*~

Agony ripped through Ichigo, liquid fire coursing through every nerve. It was worse than the time Byakuya made mincemeat out of him with Senbonzakura, worse than Ulquiorra slamming his zanpakutō through his chest, worse than his last all-out battle with Hichigo before the newly-turned Arrancar agreed to follow his lead.

_Make it stop._

No one heard his plea.

But suddenly, the suffocating pressure lifted, and a familiar reiatsu wrapped around him like a parent soothing a child after a nightmare.

Gratefully, he passed out.

~*~*~*~

Consciousness returned in bits and pieces.

Ichigo opened his eyes and immediately wished that he hadn’t.

His father’s features swam into view. “My precious progeny is awake!” he proclaimed loudly, arms flung wide open and a goofy smile stretched over his face.

Ichigo winced and opened his mouth to berate the other man, only to regret it a moment later as even inhaling proved too be too much for his body to handle. He involuntarily clutched the soft material covering him as he convulsed, coughing.

Hands helped to turn him over onto his side, one large hand warm against the back of his neck, the other against his sternum. Ichigo breathed slowly and deeply as he fought to get his coughing fit under control.

“I’ll get you some water,” his father murmured, and a moment later his footsteps moved away.

More mindful of his state, Ichigo eased himself into a sitting position, and only then did he realise what he had been lying on. His gaze travelled uncomprehendingly from the white haori clenched in his hands to the operating table bolted to the ground, and his breathing involuntarily quickened.

No, not again.

His reiatsu rose in a tidal wave, and a small part of Ichigo that was not freaking out wondered why Aizen had left his reiatsu unbound.

The megalomaniac _adored_ sekkiseki.

There was a crash at the other end of the room, and footsteps came running. He would not go down without a fight. Ichigo flared his reiatsu even higher in response, turning his head in the direction of the sound.

And found himself face-to-face with Urahara Kisuke.

The blond was panting slightly, a sheen of sweat covering his face. His omnipresent hat and fan had both disappeared, and unveiled grey eyes shining feverishly. Perhaps what alarmed Ichigo the most, however, was that Kisuke had braced both hands on the operating table, and made no attempt to hide that it was possibly the only thing keeping him upright. Blond hair flopped limply forwards into his eyes as his chest heaved visibly with the exertion under his shihakusho. “Ichigo, it’s just me.”

Ichigo frowned at this uncharacteristic lapse into informal speech, hesitating slightly. Even as he watched, Kisuke swayed slightly and nearly went down, barely catching himself on the table with an elbow with a sharp bang that made Ichigo flinch in sympathy. Ichigo made an aborted motion forwards to grab the other man before he fell, but Kisuke did not even seem to notice. “I’m sorry about the facilities, but there was nowhere else to put you.”

Grey eyes flickered up to meet his. “You know I will never hurt you.”

Kisuke-san. He could trust Kisuke-san.

Unless –

“Prove it,” Ichigo murmured softly. He was _nearly_ sure this was really the geta-bōshi, _nearly_ sure he had never seen Kyōka Suigetsu released before.

‘Nearly’ was what had gotten everyone else killed.

The blond head lowered. Ichigo tucked his feet underneath him, ready to move – to help or to fight, he did not know. “If you dodge, ‘I won’t let them cut me.” The words were soft and breathless, but audible. “If you protect someone, ‘I won’t let them die.’”

His legs buckled and nearly gave out, and this time Ichigo shot forwards to grab the other man. Together, they managed to manoeuvre Kisuke onto the table. “If you attack, ‘I’ll cut them.’ Can you see –”

“– the resolve to cut you reflected in my sword?” Ichigo finished the sentence together with him quietly.

There was the slam of a door, followed by more running footsteps.

“Is something – Kisuke, what are you doing?”

The other man managed a tired smile. “Couldn’t let your son destroy my precious laboratory in a panic attack.”

Isshin shook his head, almost shoved the mug he was holding into Ichigo’s hands, and bent to lift Kisuke fully onto the table. Ichigo scooted backwards to make room, watching intently as his father took the blond’s pulse while Kisuke laid there disturbingly pliantly.

“Just don’t get up for a few hours,” his father eventually instructed. “Until Yoruichi-san gets back.”

“What happened?” Ichigo finally asked.

“Reiatsu exhaustion,” Isshin replied shortly. “A combination of being overworked, general stress, a lack of food and sleep, and far too many combat pills.” He moved over to Ichigo, taking the empty mug from him and placing it on a nearby table. “Feeling better?”

Ichigo considered the question. “Yes,” he replied in surprise. “Was that water from the healing springs?” Now that he actively thought about it, the bitter mineral taste was unmistakeable. Absently, he brushed a lock of violet hair out of his face.

He froze.

Ichigo tugged the lock of hair back almost violently, the sharp pain indicating that yes, it was indeed growing from his scalp, and yes, it did appear to be both a different length _and_ a different colour than he distinctively recalled. He gaped at the few strands that had come loose in his fingers.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “Can someone tell me _what happened_?” He was not comforted by the fact that Kisuke and Isshin exchanged grim glances, neither speaking for a moment.

“What is the last thing you remember?” His father eventually broke the silence.

“Inoue disappearing into reishi particles,” Ichigo replied honestly, heart _clenching_ as that scene flashed before his eyes again. Another close friend dead, because he could not reach her in time, because he was not strong enough, because he could not protect her.

Another person whom he had failed.

“Do you remember what she had said?” Kisuke pressed gently. He should have looked amusing, supine on the table, but Ichigo could not dredge up any laughter at the moment.

Ichigo frowned, trying to remember the last few seconds before the darkness fell. “Something about wishing Aizen did not win?” he guessed.

“Close enough,” Kisuke allowed. “Her exact words were, ‘I wish this had never happened.’ But that was not the last thing she said.”

Ichigo shook his head slowly. “I didn’t hear anything else –” he trailed off, eyes widening as he remembered something out of place in the deluge of memories dragging him under.

“Watashi wa danko toshite kyozetsu suru,” quoted Isshin quietly.

“Is that even _possible_?”

“We’ve always taken Inoue-kun’s usual kotodama, the phrase she utilises to invoke her powers, ‘watashi wa kyozetsu suru’, to mean ‘I reject’,” Kisuke mused quietly. “But if we take her _literally_ , then what she actually says is ‘I refuse to accept’.”

“Aizen told us that Orihime-chan’s powers came from the Hōgyoku,” Isshin added. “If that was true, if her powers could indeed evolve according to the strength of her desires…”

_I absolutely refuse to accept._

“Then not even time can stand in her way,” finished Ichigo. He took in the shihakusho all three of them were wearing, the lieutenant badge tied to Isshin’s arm, and flipped the white haori in his hands over to reveal the kanji for ‘two’ embossed on it. “That’s what happened, isn’t it?”

Kisuke inclined his head slightly, hampered by his position.

“How far back did we go?”

“We’re not sure yet,” Isshin told him. “Yoruichi has gone out to check. Judging from my lieutenant badge and Kisuke’s lack of a haori, it’s between one and two centuries.”

“At least a decade over a century; I didn’t see the Hōgyoku where I’ve always kept it since its invention,” interjected Kisuke.

Ichigo’s eyes widened. “So Aizen can’t have melded with the Hōgyoku, because it hasn’t been _invented_ yet, so right now he’s still _mortal_ and he can _die_!” He swung himself off the table and made to rush off immediately.

“I didn’t know you were suicidal,” Kisuke murmured.

His quiet voice stopped Ichigo cold in his tracks. “ _What_?”

“Do you think we hadn’t considered it?” Isshin burst out. “Do you really think the Gotei Thirteen will let you get away with the murder of one of their most beloved lieutenants?”

“If that’s what it takes,” Ichigo gritted his teeth. “I’ll do it.”

“Worse, what if you don’t succeed in one try and he raises the alarm?” questioned Kisuke reasonably, turning on his side to regard Ichigo. “Are you prepared to go through the entire Gotei Thirteen?”

Ichigo frowned. “Then why won’t any of you do it? You were – _are_ – elite Onmitsukidō, surely you can kill Aizen while he’s asleep?”

Isshin was already slowly shaking his head. “We have no idea what kind of customised kidō wards Aizen placed around his quarters. Not to mention, only a few in Seireitei will have the skills to break into a lieutenant’s quarters. Assassinating Aizen will immediately cast suspicion on Yoruichi-san.”

“They can’t prove it,” Ichigo countered stubbornly.

“Ichigo, this is not the world you’re used to,” sighed Isshin. “There is no such thing as ‘innocent until proven guilty’. Central 46 already detests Yoruichi. Whether or not they can prove it, they will declare it treason and find some minute excuse, some obscure law to execute her.”

Ichigo hesitated. He wanted to continue arguing, but what they were saying made a horrifying amount of sense. He had no experience with Seireitei’s judiciary system, but they had been ready to execute Rukia for giving her shinigami powers to a human, an offence that ordinarily would never have carried the death penalty. Granted, it had been Aizen who ordered the execution, but the fact that no one even protested – save for Kyōraku Shunsui and Ukitake Jūshirō – spoke volumes about how routine such verdicts were. However –

“Why do they hate Yoruichi-san?”

Kisuke and Isshin exchanged another glance.

“After the Quincy Massacre two centuries ago, Yoruichi-san had been one of the main voices calling for a complete overhaul of the government, which eventually stripped the Central 46 of most of their executive power,” explained Kisuke slowly. He closed his eyes briefly and took several long, deep breaths before continuing. “Her position as the head of one of the Five Great Noble Clans had been instrumental in lending legitimacy and political power to the reform movement.”

Ichigo winced.

“If it was just our lives on the line, we might have done it,” Kisuke added darkly.

Isshin hissed through his teeth.

“What do you mean?”

“They wouldn’t be content to stop at just executing her,” growled Isshin. “After she’s dead, they will take her, humiliate her, drag her name through the mud, and use her to discredit the entire Shihōin Clan.”

“Not just the Shihōin,” disagreed Kisuke. “Every single Shihōin retainer clan – the Fēng Family, the Ōmaeda Family – every individual ever fostered by the Shihōin, who has ever married someone carrying the Shihōin name, who has any tenuous association at all with the Shihōin …” he trailed off and coughed slightly, waving Isshin off.

Ichigo had slowly sank back onto the table in horror as the list went on. “How do you know that?” he asked weakly. They had sounded just a little _too_ knowledgeable about this subject for it to be pure conjecture, but – dare he imagine it?

The two older men glanced at each other.

“You should tell him.”

Isshin exhaled softly and inclined his head slightly. “You knew the Shiba Clan had been one of the Great Noble Clans,” he began quietly. “Our blatant disregard for what the Central 46 had considered _propriety_ had won us no favours, and is only made worse by Yoruichi’s friendship with our current clan heiress, Kūkaku. Why do you think we suddenly fell out of favour?”

Ichigo blinked and straightened in dawning horror, nearly falling off the table as a result. “Are you telling me –”

“Aizen had made up some perceived unforgivable slight to him on Kaien’s part,” snarled Isshin. “He went to the Central 46, and received their support to declare blood feud on the entire clan.”

“Every man, woman and child who depends on the clan for their livelihood, who married into the clan, whose only crime was to carry the same clan name,” continued Kisuke while Isshin forced himself under control. “All but five of them, dead in a single night.”

“Why do you think Kūkaku and Ganju hate Aizen so much?” asked Isshin bitterly. “After that, they suspected – of course we suspected – that Aizen had murdered Kaien and Miyako. But we could never get any proof.”

“ _We cannot move against Aizen_ ,” Kisuke emphasised, struggling to rise to make his point, but Isshin forced him down again. “Do you understand why, now?”

Ichigo nodded, reluctantly. As much as he would’ve loved to… Kisuke-san was right. Keeping everyone else safe came first. “So what do we do?”

“We need evidence that Aizen is a traitor. Insurmountable evidence that he cannot refute.”

“And what kind of evidence would this be?”

Ichigo jerked his head around at the new but oh-so-familiar voice. _It couldn’t be_ … His eyes widened. “You…”

“Good morning,” greeted Kisuke placidly. “When did you wake up?”

“When aibō started sprouting his hare-brained scheme of rushing off to kill Aizen.” Gold-flecked eyes flickered over to Ichigo and Hichigo – for it could be none other than his inner Arrancar, even if his appearance had changed enough to be nearly unrecognisable – sniffed haughtily. Hichigo swung his legs over the edge of his own operating table and dropped lightly to the floor. “Really, sometimes I wonder whether his head is stuffed with cotton wool.”

Ichigo shrugged at the insult. “Yeah, I suppose I deserved that,” he commented reflectively, and scowled when the other three exchanged startled looks. “I’m _nineteen_ , I’m not so melodramatic anymore!”

“Not all the time, you mean,” cackled Hichigo, padding across the floor.

Ichigo made to growl at him, but then paused, realising he was just proving Hichigo’s point. “Hichigo does make a good point though,” he acknowledged. “What evidence are we looking for? And while we’re at it, why do we –” he gestured to himself “– look like _this_?”

Using a nearby computer terminal as a reflective surface, Hichigo ran a hand through his pale blue hair, which was still short. Ichigo thought it was distinctively unfair. “I look like a cross between Ukitake and Grimmjow,” he complained, tugging on his fringe and glaring up at it, but only succeeding in looking cross-eyed. “Urgh, I look like a _shinigami_.”

“At least it isn’t pink,” Ichigo consoled him while Kisuke and Isshin snickered in the background. They both winced, an image of Szayel flashing through their minds. Although they had never met the scientist in person, the pictures Kisuke had obtained from the surveillance cameras in Las Noches – so _that_ was how Aizen had known where they were all the time – were horrifying enough. No wonder Ishida and Renji had shuddered at any mention of his name.

Examining his own face in the blank screen of the computer terminal, Ichigo grimaced at the minute adjustments to his facial features, not enough to make a difference individually but when taken as a whole… he could possibly still pass off as Kurosaki Ichigo – but only if the person making the comparison was drunk.

Then again, he vividly recalled an incident where _Ishida_ of all people was mistaken for him, back when they had still attended high school.

_“What part of me resembles Kurosaki?”_

_The Quincy had not been amused, and Inoue had not helped matters by giggling the entire time. One of the thugs, evidently assuming she was easy prey – really now, anyone who hung around a brawl, giggling of all things, whatever their physical appearance, should not be underestimated – had grabbed her from the back. Ichigo still winced to think of it. Without blinking, Inoue had thrown her elbow backwards, smashed it into his solar plexus, kicked his legs out from under him while he wheezed, and then when he was on the ground she stomped on his groin for good measure._

_Attacking Inoue had gotten Tatsuki involved, and, as if those delinquents had not already been pathetic enough, they rapidly sank to a new low._

Beside him, Hichigo chuckled. “Yeah, second strongest girl in Japan all right.”

Surfacing from his memories, Ichigo turned expectantly to the other two men. “So?”

“The question pertaining to your new appearance is easier to answer,” began Kisuke slowly, pausing significantly between sentences but otherwise appearing to be his usual self. “Shortly after our arrival, you began convulsing. There were also visible fluctuations in the reishi comprising the outer shell of your soul.” He breathed deeply, once, twice. “From these and other smaller cues I concluded that your soul was destabilising because your presence was being rejected, for lack of a better word, by Soul Society as you did not exist in this time. To counter-balance this, I anchored your soul to the Blanks left over from my Gikongan research using a special reishi string.”

“The most terrifying few days of my life,” muttered Isshin darkly. “Especially when the energy from the combat pill in his system – _which he didn’t tell us about_ – ran out halfway and he _almost_ couldn’t finish.”

“ _Days_?” squawked Ichigo.

“Yes,” Kisuke answered faintly. “I had to modify my designs for the reishi string for this purpose and form it with my own reiatsu, attach it to the Blanks, begin transfusing reiryoku into them to prepare them –”

“Hence the reiatsu exhaustion,” interjected Isshin while Kisuke took a moment. “ _Idiot_ didn’t even tell us that the only reason he had been upright when the shop exploded was because he’d been popping combat pills like _candy_.”

“Neither of you has the experience to detect and adjust the amount of reishi flow as necessary,” countered Kisuke.

“Nor do we know how to do a reiryoku transfusion!” retorted Isshin. “You were nearly dead on your feet – if you had fallen unconscious halfway through, we would have lost _both_ you and Ichigo,” he continued more quietly.

Kisuke’s gaze skittered away to the ceiling and he made no reply to that statement.

“Had worse.” The blond’s voice was so faint Ichigo had no idea if he had even meant to say that out loud.

“You keep saying _Blanks_ , as in plural…” remarked Hichigo suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. He glanced down pointedly at himself. “Does that mean we have separate bodies now?”

“Ah, yes,” Kisuke seized the opening gratefully. “One Blank could not contain all of Ichigo’s reiryoku, especially not after you absorbed the remnants of Inoue-kun’s shield. It was on the verge of exploding from reiryoku overload so I made the decision to hasten the fracture in your soul and tie each part to a different Blank.”

“The stress on your soul, from being essentially forcibly ripped into two pieces, was what had kept you asleep the past few days.”

Ichigo exchanged a look with his former inner Arrancar at Isshin’s _tone_. “If that was what it took to keep us alive, then we thank you for it, Kisuke-san.” Both of them sketched a deep formal bow of gratitude.

Kisuke blinked, a slight flush creeping up the side of his neck, standing out vividly against the pallor of his skin. “Gratitude is unnecessary,” he murmured the traditional reply.

Tactfully, Ichigo dropped the subject. His mother _had_ drilled etiquette into him after all, even if he chose not to use it most of the time. “What did you mean by Inoue’s shield, though?”

Simultaneously, Hichigo had another train of thought. “But King could hold our combined reiryoku even in his _human_ body.” He spat the word _human_ as though it were a disease.

Isshin snorted. “Human bodies are comprised of relatively more flexible _kishi_ atoms, which is far more amenable to stretch than the more rigid reishi shells are. Not to mention, Ichigo’s vast reserves of reiryoku developed gradually over his life, which gave his body time to adapt to the increase. Trying to force all your reiryoku right now into a Blank is like trying to fit an ocean into a teacup.”

“Huh.”

“As for Ichigo’s question,” Kisuke answered this time, “it is likely that upon activating her powers, Inoue-kun subconsciously wanted to protect us from the backlash of the time-space distortion. Her wish manifested as a shield that covered us from the rejection. It is not us that were sent back in time, but rather everything _else_ that was reset. When the shield had fulfilled its purpose, it dissolved into reishi particles and was absorbed by the four of us.”

“You can imagine the amount of reiatsu needed to shield us from such a drastic change,” Isshin added. “It probably took every bit of strength Orihime-chan had.”

“She poured her entire _being_ into it,” murmured Kisuke thoughtfully. “Right now, we are quite literally carrying all her hopes and wishes.”

A horrible thought struck Ichigo. “Does that include the Shun Shun Rikka?” he demanded.

Kisuke frowned. “It… should not. The Shun Shun Rikka, like a zanpakutō spirit, is bonded to her soul. Unless she was using her _soul_ to power the shield… which, now that I think about it, isn’t as impossible as I would normally consider it to be…” he trailed off, eyes fixed blankly up at the ceiling.

For a long moment no one spoke, each immersed in their own thoughts.

The door creaked, unnaturally loud in the silence that had ensued, drawing everyone’s attention. “Did I miss something?” Shihōin Yoruichi asked, standing at the entrance, blinking. “Kisuke, what are you doing over there?”

“Convincing Ichigo that I’m not Aizen,” the blond replied absently, eyes refocusing. “Ah, welcome back, Yoruichi-san.” He made to get up.

“You _stay right there_!” snapped four voices at the same time.

Kisuke blinked, but hurriedly laid back down obediently when Yoruichi stalked over.

“You,” she growled, pinning him with an irate glare. “What part of ‘bed rest’ do you not get?”

Kisuke raised his hands as though to physically ward her off. “All right, all right, I really do get it!” He glanced wildly around the room, gaze pausing on Isshin.

Isshin rolled his eyes and came to his rescue. “So, what’s the date?”

Yoruichi straightened, all trace of humour disappearing from her voice. “January 28, 1873.”

Ichigo stared at Hichigo while Isshin frowned. “Did something special happen on this day?”

“Other than being the eve of the Lunar New Year?” asked Yoruichi rhetorically. Both of them looked expectantly at Kisuke.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Kisuke retorted drily, “Being a genius does not mean I can remember every single day in my entire life.”

“Wait,” Ichigo exclaimed suddenly. “1873… isn’t this the year Japan changed to the Gregorian calendar?”

He was met with bemused looks from all three shinigami.

“We’ll take your word for it, high school graduate,” his father informed him.

Ichigo scowled.

“It’s not our fault that we didn’t make it to our university entrance exams because we were stuck in Soul Society,” grumbled Hichigo.

“Between Aizen, the Wandenreich and the Fullbringers that year, _when_ were we supposed to study?” added Ichigo bitterly. “I probably wouldn’t have passed anyway. Even _Ishida_ didn’t manage to pass, after all that effort he put into squeezing out just barely enough downtime to _take_ the national examinations. The rest of us just gave up; those days we spent more time fighting than in school.”

“Still,” interrupted Isshin before the duo could delve into a full-blown rant, “I don’t think the choice of calendar in the Transient World has anything to do with our current situation.”

“Whatever the reason, we now have two extra days of holiday to decide what we should do,” concluded Kisuke.

“I put you on backdated paid leave,” Yoruichi added, almost as an afterthought.

Kisuke sighed, almost mournfully. “Suì-Fēng-san is going to be unbearable.”

Yoruichi rolled her eyes. “I’ll tell her you’re researching a poison for the Onmitsukidō. Can you theorise while lying down?”

“I _could_ reverse-engineer one of that Arrancar scientist’s most lethal concoctions in theory,” mused Kisuke thoughtfully, “but I’ll actually have to run some experiments for the final product.”

“Then one of us will stay with you at all times,” instructed Yoruichi in a tone of finality.

Kisuke shot her a sceptical glance, but did not protest further.

Yoruichi huffed slightly, unceremoniously dropping several bags on the nearest empty table. “Lunch,” she explained succinctly, an evil smirk spreading across her face. “Oooh, does the poor widdle Ki-chan need someone to feed him?”

Kisuke blanched at the sight of the yakitori skewers being twirled between her fingers. “I can do it myself?” he tried weakly.

As though he had not spoken, Yoruichi continued advancing on him. “Open _wide_ ,” she suggested in a sing-song voice.

Carefully, Hichigo slid over to the table and grabbed their portion of yakitori while Yoruichi was distracted.

“She’s really annoyed at him for over-exerting himself,” Isshin explained quietly to the two of them.

“This is her being _annoyed_?” Ichigo whispered back, manfully trying to ignore the way Yoruichi was cheerfully shoving skewers into Kisuke’s mouth. “She looks like she’s trying to stab him to death.”

“What does she look like when she’s downright furious?” wondered Hichigo.

Isshin glanced at them. “You’ve seen her truly angry before,” he reminded the other softly.

Ichigo’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, yes,” he murmured. Being caught up in his own battles at the time, he only heard of the circumstances second-hand later. But there was no mistaking that torrent of reiatsu – normally under such tight control he could barely feel it unless he was next to her. Only his reflexes and sheer speed had saved him from the flying _mountain_. His opponents had not been so lucky.

They had had to redraw the map of Japan after that.

Hichigo sighed in appreciation. “They should put up a sign at ground zero: Here lies the Ishikari Mountains, which used to exist.” He hopped off his seat, setting his chopsticks down. “Ahh, now I’m itching for a spar.” His eyes swept the laboratory and he began to frown. “Where is it?”

Ichigo jerked, panic rising up in his chest as he too leapt up.

“Where is what?” Isshin asked urgently, rising to his feet a beat slower than them, hand going to the sword sheathed at his side. “Is it Aizen?”

The duo turned to him. “Our _zanpakutō_!”

From the corner of his eye, Ichigo spied Yoruichi spinning to face them. “I don’t remember seeing Zangetsu with you,” she murmured, almost to herself.

“ _WHAT_?” shrieked Ichigo.

“Calm down,” ordered Kisuke, pushing himself up. He fixed them with a steely gaze. “Try meditating to see if you can find him.”

Nodding, the two fell into mirroring Jinzen positions on the floor. Ichigo closed his eyes, allowing his breathing to even out and himself to slip _sideways_ , past the boundaries that held him in the real world.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see the sideways skyscrapers he had associated with his mindscape. To his astonishment, he found Hichigo standing opposite him instead in a completely foreign landscape.

“Aren't we supposed to be two separate individuals now?” Hichigo asked, waving a hand at what was apparently still their shared mindscape, despite the drastic changes it had gone through.

Ichigo mulled it over. “Maybe because we're technically one soul in two bodies?” he suggested. “I'll ask Kisuke-san later.” The Arrancar conceded the point, falling into step beside his King as they explored their new mindscape.

Unlike the sunny blue sky and glass-panelled skyscrapers in their previous inner world, the new world was made up of darker colour tones. Looking up, he saw lightning dancing across a sky stained dark crimson, dimly lit by a sun hanging low on the horizon.

Dark crimson. The colour of blood. Blood spilt on the battlefield. Blood spilt by allies, when they arrived too late to help. Blood spilt by innocents, murdered by Arrancar who couldn’t care less whom they hit.

Dark crimson. The colour of war.

The two of them exchanged meaningful glances. Perhaps it was for the better that their mindscape had changed; it now better reflected their experiences than the cheerful optimism of the previous one exuded. Once a source of comfort, sunny blue skies could now only grate on their nerves. The new mindscape would, at the very least, serve as a stark reminder as to their purpose in Soul Society: to defeat Aizen, before he could destroy all that they stood for again.

Turning his gaze downward, Ichigo noticed for the first time that the surface they had been walking on was not simply bare rock as he had assumed. In fact, it had the texture of obsidian, albeit a blue one, but rippled like water with every step they took. Bending down, he touched the surface with one finger. Light seemed to shift around the point of contact, bending sideways and causing different shades of blue to ripple across the ground.

Ichigo stood up, intrigued. From the lecture on zanpakutō – made compulsory for all shinigami to attend after the Zanpakutō Rebellion, even the substitute shinigami – he understood that the overall design of the mindscape was often shaped by a shinigami's personality, but the zanpakutō's abilities often influenced the details. Judging from what he had seen so far, that was _some_ zanpakutō he had – or was this actually the product of two zanpakutō, if Hichigo had his own zanpakutō? How would that work?

He was about to ask Hichigo for his opinion when the Arrancar tapped his arm, eyes fixed on a point in the distance. Ichigo spun around – and his breath caught.

The bond between a shinigami and their zanpakutō surpassed even that between lovers. It was held as common knowledge that the two would know each other anywhere, and would be instinctively drawn to each other even across worlds.

Eyes fixed on the two figures approaching, Ichigo almost forgot how to breathe.

“So, we finally meet our wielders,” murmured the figure to the left, voice low and soothing.

Ichigo thought, very briefly, that he sounded like Byakuya and Ulquiorra rolled into one. That was before his heart swelled, nearly tangibly, at the feeling of simply being near his zanpakutō, part of himself, again.

The other figure raised an appendage in a mock-salute. “Yo.”

~*~*~*~

“So how was it?” Kisuke demanded the moment the two of them opened their eyes in the real world.

Ichigo shook his head slowly, trying to dislodge the euphoria of meeting his zanpakutō for the first time, which even now threatened to bubble up and engulf him. “Intense,” he answered after a pause. “For some reason, we don’t have Zangetsu anymore. We met our new zanpakutō spirits.” He shook his head again, harder. What was wrong with him?

The scientist's gaze sharpened. “We?” he inquired.

“Aa, for some reason, we have a common mindscape,” agreed Hichigo.

“You two… you are konsōshi,” muttered Kisuke to himself. Isshin and Yoruichi’s eyes widened.

“Is that even possible?” she demanded.

Kisuke tilted his head to the side in place of a shrug. “This is my hypothesis.”

“What do you mean, twins of one soul?” Hichigo voiced for the both of them.

“In Soul Society, twins don’t exist,” Isshin explained. “In the Transient World, conception occurs when sperm meets egg, creating a zygote that develops into a body. Sometimes, there’s more than one zygote, and hence more than one body develops at the same time. The creation of the new bodies then induces souls to disappear from Soul Society, to be reborn in the real world.”

Ichigo nodded impatiently. “I know that.”

“In Soul Society, only reiatsu particles exist,” Isshin continued. “The ground, the buildings, the people… everything is made up of purely reiatsu particles. Conception in Soul Society only happens if both partners possess enough reiatsu together in order to create a new soul. The overall process is the same, but instead of sperms, one party's reiatsu merges briefly with the other's during conception, and under favourable conditions the excess in their conjoined reiatsu will break off to form a new soul.”

Yoruichi took over. “Most souls from Rukongai don’t even have enough reiatsu to require food – which is an edible form of reiatsu particles that allows the consumer to replenish reiatsu levels – much less than conceive. It’s why they form families with other residents, and why anyone who wants children will adopt them. In fact, the only difference between nobles and commoners is whether they were born in Soul Society or the Transient World.”

“Even within noble families, conception is uncommon. The clans will be lucky to boast one child per generation in the main house. That’s why adoption into the clan is compulsory for all spouses and concubines, on the off chance that a child was possible. Conception will elevate both parties' class statuses above all others. In addition, the head of any noble house could choose to adopt promising individuals to boost the strength of the clan,” added Isshin.

“Conception of one child can only be guaranteed if both parties together possess amounts of reiatsu equal to that of two average Gotei Thirteen taichō. Besides, the female bearer or the nurturing container must possess or receive reiatsu transfusions to maintain a reiatsu level that rivals an average third seat's, in order to sustain the baby's growth,” finished Yoruichi.

“Theoretically, if both parties together possessed thrice the amount of reiatsu required for the conception of one child, twins are possible,” Kisuke interjected.

Ichigo nodded slowly, beginning to understand. Probably only Yamamoto-sōtaichō, Aizen, Unohana-san, Ukitake-san, Kyōraku-san, Isshin, Kenpachi and he had that much reiatsu. It was no wonder that twins did not exist.

“So,” summarised Hichigo. “We’ve just done the impossible. Again.”

Kisuke snorted, scrubbing a hand down his face in a very un-Kisuke-like manner. “I have long given up on the idea of impossible when used in reference to _you_.”

“But… what happened to Zangetsu?” wondered Ichigo. He frowned. Why was he not more upset at the loss of his trusty partner for four years? Every time he tried to think of the old man – for he would forever associate the Quincy manifestation with Zangetsu, despite knowing otherwise – his thoughts skittered away. Compared to everything else, it just seemed so _trivial_. But that feeling made no sense. How could he ever think his bond with Zangetsu was unimportant?

Hichigo glanced at him. “I think that’s our new zanpakutō.”

Ichigo’s mouth dropped open as he sought to isolate that foreign feeling, which felt so _right_ despite everything that his brain was screaming at him.

“I think,” Kisuke began slowly. “Inoue-kun likely subconsciously used a _visual_ stimulus to guide her protective shield. Not being a shinigami herself, in those few seconds her mind did not turn to the bond between wielder and zanpakutō.”

“You’re saying she accidentally _rejected_ my bond with Zangetsu,” Ichigo concluded hollowly.

Kisuke winced, eyes involuntarily straying to his shikomizue lying in a corner, next to Engetsu. His shoulders slumped. “Insofar as I can ascertain, yes.”

For a moment, Ichigo could not speak.

Zangetsu, a part of him ever since he had become a shinigami, gone just like that. It was like losing an arm or a leg while asleep, and waking up to find a prosthetic in its place. The prosthetic might work just as well or even better than his human limb, but it was still foreign. Or should have been foreign, except for the voices in his head telling him that it was not.

Hichigo was watching him with a faint air of puzzlement. “Sometimes, King, you’re oddly hung-up about the strangest things.”

Ichigo blinked rapidly, suddenly realising what was so odd about the whole situation. “Did I say any of that out loud?”

“You didn’t say anything.”

Hichigo’s eyebrows shot up and he turned to stare at Ichigo. “Then,” Ichigo summarised their thoughts perfectly, “how the world do you _keep_ knowing what I was thinking?” As one, their gazes snapped expectantly to the resident genius.

“I would conjecture that this is a side-effect of being as tightly bonded as the two of you clearly are…” the blond trailed off, gaze turning inwards. A moment later, he continued, “However, if this operates on the same level as typical reiatsu bonds, it should lessen with distance and practice.”

“Reiatsu… bonds?”

The three adults exchanged looks. Kisuke sighed. Isshin shrugged. Yoruichi spread her hands.

“I think, given how well you acclimatised to being a shinigami, this is probably one of the things everyone forgot that you didn’t know about.”

Ichigo nodded slowly. Even after four years, there were still so many gaps in his knowledge, especially regarding the daily lives of shinigami – things that everyone else took for granted, but he’d never had the cause or the time to learn.

“On a daily basis, most shinigami unconsciously leak reiatsu around them,” lectured Kisuke. “Hence, shinigami who spend copious amounts of time around each other usually have minute quantities of each other's reiatsu.”

Ichigo frowned. “But isn’t reiatsu a form of energy? How does that work?”

Kisuke hummed thoughtfully. “How good are you at quantum mechanics?”

The two teenagers stared back blankly. “You mean, Einstein’s theory of general relativity?” ventured Ichigo finally. “I was more interested in biology than physics.”

Kisuke pursed his lips, evidently considering how best to explain it. “The theory that particles can exhibit wave-like behaviour, rather.”

“Okay?”

“Your reiatsu is able to operate at the same frequency as the other’s after prolonged exposure. There are other factors, of course, the individual has to subconsciously accept the potential shift in reiatsu, but the study of _that_ is more psychological and philosophical than scientific.”

An awkward silence fell.

“I did not know that,” commented Isshin.

“You’re a doctor, not a scientist,” muttered Kisuke testily. “Have you never wondered why different people’s reiatsu can have different colours?”

Yoruichi made an impatient noise. “For the non-science-inclined, what Kisuke was trying to say is that we all have unique reiatsu signatures, and close friends may leave _imprints_ of themselves, so to speak, in each other’s reiatsu.”

Ichigo nodded rapidly, glad to move on to a topic he could relate to. “I knew that.” It was the basics of sensing others, though he still had problems unless he concentrated very hard or he was very familiar with the other person – wait a minute. “Is that why I can sense the reiatsu signatures of my closest friends more easily?”

Isshin snapped his fingers. “Remember how you just _knew_ something was wrong with Abarai-kun, even though none of us had felt anything?”

Ichigo blanched at the reminder. Hichigo glared at the blond but bit out in a cold, clinical tone. “We _remember_.”

Isshin winced, but doggedly ploughed on. “Your reiatsu was responding to the strong emotions reflected in his,” he explained in a rush.

Hichigo inclined his head in a single, brief nod. Apology accepted.

Ichigo raised his head from his hands. “So what do these bonds do?”

“Well,” Yoruichi started thoughtfully, “it can act as a danger alert system, as you’ve already known.” Hichigo transferred his glare to her, but she seemed impervious. “Sometimes it allows you to feel their stronger emotions – Orihime’s empathic ability, for instance, probably stemmed from that. The _closest_ shinigami may be able to communicate by tuning into each other’s reiatsu.”

Ichigo’s eyes widened. “Like… telepathy?” he asked.

Kisuke snorted, but a glare from both Isshin and Yoruichi silenced him.

“Not telepathy,” Isshin replied. “It’s like how a telephone works. When you speak into one end, the vibrations are carried along the connection – in this case, the reiatsu ribbon – to the other person. If you want the scientific details, I’m sure Kisuke’s just dying to give you a lecture.”

“So, like how you can make a telephone with two paper cups and a string,” summarised Hichigo.

Isshin’s eyes lit up, no doubt remembering the day Karin and Yuzu came home with that topic as a science project. “Yes, exactly.”

“Does it have the same limitations?” asked Ichigo.

Isshin’s brow furrowed. “I… think so. Usually you would have to be physically near the other person to find their reiatsu ribbon, and it takes a lot of effort and trust to extend your reiatsu down the other’s ribbon in this manner, which is why it’s rarely used.”

“It’s a compulsory skill for everyone involved in high-level Onmitsukidō missions,” interjected Yoruichi. “Real-time situation updates and nearly impossible to trace when you master it, if there’s someone you trust enough to that degree.”

Isshin shot her an askance look, but then a grin bloomed over his face. “Is that how you and Kisuke could endure all those endless captain meetings? Because you’re _passing notes_?”

“We’re not the only ones,” she rebutted, hands on her hips and not looking the slightest bit ashamed. “I’m quite sure Kyōraku and Ukitake do it too.”

Hichigo coughed loudly, interrupting their showdown. “So, how do we do it?”

“Do you remember the feeling you get, right before you slip into your inner world?” asked Yoruichi. “When you’re hovering on the edge, reach out and find the other’s reiatsu ribbon. Extend your reiatsu down this ribbon, and consciously project your thoughts along that.”

“It should be easier for the two of you, since you’re already connected,” Kisuke mused. “It _might_ even be possible for you two to cover unprecedented distances.”

Deciding to test it out, Ichigo mentally reached out, seeking the red ribbon that represented Hichigo. _'Hello?'_ he tried, feeling rather idiotic.

He jumped when Hichigo's voice sounded too loud in his mind. _‘YO!’_ Before he could protest the volume, however, Ichigo could _feel_ Hichigo’s apology, accompanying a much softer, _‘Sorry.’_

Opening his eyes – when had he closed them? – Ichigo could not stop the look of awe from crossing his face. “Wow,” he whispered.

Isshin grinned proudly. “On his first try, too.” He spread his hands wide. “My remarkable son is a prodigy!”

“Shut up, Goat-Face!” two voices shrieked in unison.

Ichigo stared at Hichigo, who rubbed the back of his head. “Ehehe, reflex?”

Ichigo snorted. _‘Turning into a shinigami, aren’t you?’_

 _‘Shut up!’_ yelped Hichigo, mortification burning down the bond. Ichigo chuckled, deciding to let the other off the hook for once. He refocused just in time to see the three older shinigami exchange exasperated looks.

“This won't do,” announced Yoruichi. “You can't just space out when you're using a bond to communicate. Not only will that tell everyone what you're doing, in a battle enemies will definitely get under your guard.”

Isshin twitched suddenly. “Maa,” he laughed nervously when everyone stared at him. “Just a bad experience with that.”

Ichigo nodded thoughtfully. “How do I improve?”

As one, three voices sounded simultaneously. “Practice!”

Hichigo groaned and slapped his forehead. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Practice,” insisted Yoruichi. “When you're eating, when you're training, when you're talking to someone else… why, Kisuke and I can hold a conversation about what's for dinner while making a report to the sōtaichō.”

“That's because you two have been best friends for way too long,” grumbled Isshin good-naturedly.

At the mention of the outside world beyond the five of them, Ichigo sobered. “So, now that we know where and _when_ we are, what do we do?” He looked expectantly at Kisuke.

Snapping a familiar white fan open – Ichigo was not even going to ask where _that_ had come from – Kisuke tapped it thoughtfully against his chin. “I need more information,” he finally declared, shifting himself into a more comfortable position against the wall he was leaning on. “Information-wise, we are at a severe disadvantage right now – I know distressingly little about what Aizen is doing at this stage, and he far too much. Moving against him, right now, could prove disastrous.”

“We know more than Aizen, don’t we?” Hichigo pointed out. “We have a hundred years’ more information than _he_ does.”

“Not necessarily,” cautioned Kisuke. “Our very presence may have irrevocably changed the course of the future – any knowledge we take for granted, especially the further into the future we go, may never come to pass.”

“So what, we wait?” Hichigo clarified, looking distinctly unhappy about that prospect.

“We wait,” confirmed Kisuke, eyes hard.

“But that is no reason to be passive, to sit and do _nothing_!” argued Ichigo passionately.

Sharp grey eyes swept his face. “Who said we were doing nothing?” retorted the blond rhetorically. “The important thing is, we need Aizen to slip up _before_ we can make our move. So we’re going to _make_ him slip up.”

A gleeful grin spread across Hichigo’s face at the prospect of mayhem.

“You’re proposing we spy on Aizen,” Yoruichi concluded flatly. “Kisuke, I know you’ve considered the risks before suggesting this, but how do you think we can pull this off?”

“We need information, therefore, logically, we will _get_ information,” countered Kisuke grimly. “We cannot afford to be oblivious to his plans again.”

The five of them exchanged solemn glances.

There was no way Aizen would believe them if any of the three established shinigami decided to join him. It had to be someone new, someone whom he could be deceived into believing was loyal to him, but who will never be fooled by Aizen’s mask.

“Aizen recruited Tōsen and Gin straight out of the Academy,” reminded Isshin. “This shows that he prefers outspoken new shinigami with a lot of potential but have not yet become loyal to Soul Society.”

Yoruichi nodded slowly. “He used his influence and charisma as the Fifth Division’s captain to recruit anyone with potential directly from the Academy into his ranks.”

“I don’t understand,” complained Hichigo. “How can a psychopathic megalomaniac like Aizen, who only views everyone as tools to be _used_ to further his own path to godhood, pass off as even remotely _likeable_?”

Kisuke closed his eyes, tilting his head back to the wall until he was facing the ceiling.

“That’s not him,” bit out Isshin bitterly. “It’s Hirako.”

“What?”

“Shinji’s worst mistake wasn’t giving Aizen the power of a lieutenant,” explained Yoruichi quietly. “It was keeping Aizen close enough, for long enough, for Aizen to learn how to act _just like_ _him_.”

Isshin took a deep breath. “That natural charisma of a born leader, the kindness… it’s not Aizen’s. It’s Hirako’s.”

“You cannot understand,” Kisuke said quietly, face still tilted towards the ceiling, “how much Shinji _hates himself_ for that.”

He could imagine, though. Just like how Tsukishima had effortlessly inserted himself into the memories of his closest friends, replacing their most precious people with himself, stealing their faces and their personalities and turning their most treasured memories into _lies_ … If Tsukishima had worn Ichigo’s face for a hundred years and committed such _atrocities_ while doing so, and all because _Ichigo_ had let him… Kisuke-san was right. There was no way he could possibly understand.

No wonder Shinji utterly despised Aizen. At first, Ichigo had attributed it to helplessness and frustration at being unable to stop his own lieutenant, but now…

He could see it. Shinji, the unofficial leader of the Visored, did not have seniority or overwhelming combat prowess over the others. However, they instinctively looked to him for orders. He had an ability to draw people in, to make them trust him and follow him. The same ability, evidently, that Aizen had _stolen_.

He clenched his right hand into a fist so tight his knuckles turned white and for a moment, imagined how satisfying it would be to _splinter_ Aizen’s smug expression.

“You are not the only one who has lost something to him,” Yoruichi stated coldly. “Don’t turn it into a grudge match between yourself and Aizen.”

Suì-Fēng’s face, eyes closed forever, flashed before his eyes. Ichigo bowed his head at the implied reprimand. “I apologise for my behaviour earlier.”

Kisuke gave a sharp nod, heaving himself back upright. “Untapped potential and political power in an irresistible package.” His eyes alighted on Ichigo.

“Political power?” asked Hichigo in confusion. “You mean, because we’re from the Shiba clan?”

Isshin was already shaking his head. “Technically, you’d be just some bastard children in the main family. Aizen has no problems getting hold of nobles. With Kaien as the clan head right now, the line of inheritance goes to Kūkaku first. Unless I challenge him for it, but he’s a brilliant clan head, much better than me.”

“Challenge?” repeated Ichigo.

Isshin blinked and laughed ruefully. “Inheritance in the great noble clans is all about charisma and power. If the established clan head does not possess bankai, then any blood-related member of the clan – not adopted members, gets too messy otherwise – who has achieved bankai can challenge for the position. It’s mostly a ceremonial challenge, if the clan head really does not have bankai, you automatically get the position.” His eyes slid to Yoruichi, who was engaged in a silent staring contest with Kisuke.

“Ichigo,” Yoruichi broke off the stare-down to face him, utterly serious. “Would you agree to be adopted by me?”

Ichigo blinked.

Everything crystallised in his mind, as if someone had taken him aside and explained everything to him, complete with horrible drawings of questionable rabbits. Aizen would love for such a chance to strike Soul Society where it hurts the most. As the head of one of the Four – no, wait, Five Great Noble Houses in Soul Society, Yoruichi wielded an enormous amount of power. Anyone she adopts would be regarded in the same way as her. To have such a prestigious noble betray Soul Society… Aizen would no doubt deal Soul Society a huge blow. Ichigo had seen the aftermath of Rukia’s supposed betrayal, and it was not pretty.

“The council has been after me to designate an heir for the past decades,” continued the woman, tone still as flat as before. “The Shihōin clan heir, an adopted Rukongai street rat not yet moulded to the hierarchy of Soul Society… he would _jump_ at a chance to turn such an individual to his cause.”

However, he had to be sure – “You mean, just until Aizen dies, or for real?”

Kisuke raised an eyebrow. “This is an irreversible declaration,” he replied drily. “If you achieve bankai while as a clan heir, then the only way to oust you is a majority vote. You’ll find that very few nobles will vote against someone with a bankai, unless backed by someone with an even more powerful bankai.” He gave Ichigo a meaningful look.

However, could he give up his family just like that? Could he give up being a Kurosaki, give up his parents and sisters and even Hichigo?

Hichigo made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. _‘King, no one’s asking you to give up your current family. You’re just expanding it to include Urahara-san and Yoruichi-san as well. Besides, do you really think what name you choose to respond to changes who you really are?’_

The Arrancar – _former_ Arrancar – was right. Ichigo blinked in surprise.

 _‘I’m not smarter than you, King. You just don’t use your brain often.’_ Hichigo sniped.

On the verge of responding aggressively, Ichigo paused and seriously considered what Hichigo was saying. Hichigo was created as his mirror image in terms of appearance, but all other attributes including intelligence should be the same as his. So, in a way, he was speaking the truth. Taking a deep breath, he let go of his instinctive defensive reaction. “I agree to the adoption,” he calmly informed the others.

Yoruichi’s face broke into a wide grin. “Excellent,” she purred.

“Ano, Yoruichi-san, how are you going to introduce me to the clan?” asked Ichigo nervously. That grin never boded well. He could vividly remember the borderline-torture she called “training”.

“Nee-sama,” corrected Yoruichi impishly.

About to argue, Ichigo again tried to think things through. The council elders would certainly object to the adoption of a nobody in their eyes. There was no need to antagonise them even further by showing what they would perceive to be blatant disrespect to the current clan head. It was a matter of choosing which battles to fight. “Nee-sama,” he relented with a sigh, and saw Yoruichi smile in approval.

Fine, it was necessary. He _got it already_.

“I’m going to bring you home and explain that you caught my eye as a rare prodigy and decided to adopt you as my heir.”

“Prodigy?” Ichigo raised an eyebrow. Surely it could not be as simple as that?

“Why, yes. As far as they know, you’re a Rukongai resident with an instinctive grasp of shunpo, proficiency in hakuda, rudimentary zanjutsu abilities and reiatsu levels on par with a lieutenant. This kind of chance comes once in several lifetimes. Shinigami lifetimes.” And shinigami lived for very, very long.

“Aah.” Ichigo nodded. A word caught his attention however. “Lieutenant-level reiatsu?”

Yoruichi grinned evilly. “Of course, you don’t want to attract too much unwanted attention with abnormal levels, so keep your reiatsu compressed at all times, ne?”

Ichigo sighed and nodded again.

“Well,” she rubbed his hands gleefully. “What shall we call you?”

Ichigo blinked at that. “What’s wrong with my name?”

“Didn’t you always complain about how people mistake your name for ‘strawberry’?” prompted Isshin.

“Well, yeah,” Ichigo started, “but I’ll always remember that it means ‘one who protects’ and that it doesn’t matter what others mistake it as, because I know that’s who I am.”

“Yes, but ‘one who protects’ isn’t really the theme we’re going for. Not to mention I, for one, would like a name that doesn’t sound like a rip-off. No offence, but King, your imagination is _awful_. Just look at Kon.”

“A name that defines you, hmm?” Kisuke murmured.

Ichigo flushed slightly. “If it’s all right, I’d like a name that can be perceived the same way, by changing the kanji of an existing word to mean something totally different.”

“As a memento,” stated Yoruichi.

Ichigo nodded silently.

“So, are we going to pick a word that sounds as stupid as ‘strawberry’?” interrupted Hichigo, grinning broadly. “Ah, I know! How about Bakabuta?”

Ichigo twitched. “I will _not_ be named ‘idiot pig’!” he snarled. He could just see it. Aizen would probably keel over dead from laughing too hard, instead of being skewered by Ichigo’s zanpakutō.

“Okay, okay, how about Yakisoba? It’s even a type of food!” Hichigo continued, seemingly oblivious to Ichigo’s growing ire.

“Fried noodles,” repeated Ichigo disbelievingly. “Really, is that the best you can come up with?”

“Then, do you want a fruit? What about Ringo?”

Ichigo gritted his teeth. “Do I look like an apple to you?”

Hichigo only cackled in response.

“I think nobody will ever take him seriously if he’s named ‘apple’,” interjected Yoruichi, though she was also grinning broadly. “How about a more sensible name?”

“But there are shinigami with names that can be equally ridiculous!” argued Hichigo, dancing out of Ichigo’s reach just in case his King decided to turn violent.

“Oh yeah?” Ichigo retorted. “Give me an example then!”

“Like Hiyori!” Hichigo argued without missing a beat. “Her family name’s _Sarugaki_ , which makes for puns nearly as bad as ‘strawberry’ does!”

“In case you didn’t notice, that’s her surname, you dolt. She didn’t _choose_ to have a name that’s homophonic to ‘monkey brat’!” Ichigo snapped.

“Fine. Then what do you say about Hitsugaya Tōshirō?”

Ichigo blinked. “I fail to see what’s so funny about that.”

“Not by itself,” Hichigo concurred, “but don’t you think it’s funny that his name says ‘lion’ instead of ‘dragon’ like his zanpakutō spirit? Male winter lion doesn’t describe him at all.”

Ichigo stared at Hichigo as though he had grown another head. “Then what do you want to call him? Male winter dragon? Tōryūrō is way too much of a tongue-twister to use as a name.”

Hichigo pouted. “I was only going to suggest we rename him Tōshiro.”

“If you want to name him ‘white winter’, baka, your grammar is failing,” Ichigo groaned.

“I _know_ that! But Shirotō sounds stupid!” Hichigo snapped back.

“As amusing as it is to hear Hitsugaya-taichō’s name dissected, can we get back to topic?” Kisuke interrupted, looking as though he wished there was popcorn.

Ichigo and Hichigo exchanged sheepish looks.

“Then… Ren?”

About to yell angrily at him again, Ichigo stopped and realised that for once it was an actual, proper name. “It sounds like you’re calling Renji but cut yourself off at the last moment. I’ll never remember to respond to that name,” Ichigo sighed.

“Right. No name that sounds like that of a friend’s,” agreed Hichigo.

“There’s always Shizuka,” proposed Yoruichi.

Ichigo stared. “Isn’t that a girl’s name?” He did not think Yoruichi would join Hichigo in coming up with stupid names, but then again with her one would never know.

“Actually, it’s a gender-neutral name,” commented Isshin neutrally.

Ichigo scowled nevertheless. “I think Byakuya’s feminine enough for both of us.”

“If you don’t decide I’m going to name you Ichirō!” threatened Yoruichi.

Ichigo panicked. “I’m trying, I’m trying!”

“But he’s not your first-born son,” inserted Hichigo helpfully.

“He’s my heir,” smirked Yoruichi. “There isn’t much of a difference.”

“Then… then… Yūri?” Hichigo hastily suggested.

Ichigo instantly saw red. “Are you trying to condemn me to an eternity of yaoi/yuri jokes? _Are_ you?”

“Maybe?” Hichigo grinned cheekily, easily avoiding Ichigo’s incensed swipes.

“As interesting as this discussion is, I don’t think continuing it is going to be very helpful,” commented Kisuke, although the humour dancing in his eyes belied his words.

“That’s it.” Hichigo snapped his fingers. Everyone sent him odd looks.

“What?” Ichigo asked.

“What Kisuke-san just said. Continuation. It describes our situation perfectly and it can be a male name.”

“I suppose it does sound better than your _other_ suggestions so far,” Ichigo mused. “And Tsuzuki isn’t such a bad name.”

“Then Tsuzuki it is!” announced Yoruichi cheerfully. “Now for the kanji…”

Everyone groaned.

“It has to be befitting of a noble,” continued Yoruichi. “Anyone can think of any nature-related kanji that can be read as ‘tsu’?”

“Wood,” Isshin offered immediately.

“Bamboo,” Ichigo added.

“Plum,” murmured Kisuke.

There was a pause as everyone tried to figure out how ‘plum’ could be a syllable in Tsuzuki.

Ichigo summed everyone’s feelings up in one syllable. “Eh?”

“Well, I took the first word from the kanji of ‘plum rain’,” explained Kisuke.

“I don’t think you can actually read it separately that way,” considered Isshin.

Kisuke smiled beatifically and fluttered his fan, as if to negate simple things like _convention_ and _grammar_. “But doesn’t it make such a nice pun on Ichigo’s birthday? July 15. Plum rain season.”

Slowly, the rest began to grin.

“All right, so we’re taking the first syllable from ‘tsuyū’,” decided Yoruichi, just daring someone to argue with her. “What about the ‘zuki’ part?”

“First thing I can think of is bamboo.”

“All right, ‘plum’ and ‘bamboo’ it is.” Ichigo paused. “It actually sounds kind of good.” To prove that point, he scratched the two words out on paper.

They stared at it. It actually did look like a noble’s name, if no one stared too hard. Since he was supposedly a Rukongai resident brought in by Yoruichi, no one _would_ look too hard.

“No violent objections?” Yoruichi checked just in case. There were none. “Then welcome to the clan, Shihōin Tsuzuki! You’re up next, Hichigo-kun!”

The newly-dubbed Tsuzuki grinned evilly. Hichigo gulped.

“Shirayukihime!” called out Tsuzuki immediately.

Hichigo spluttered. “Did you – did you just call me Snow White?”

“You don’t like it?” Tsuzuki mock-pouted.

“Of course not!” yelled Hichigo, all composure lost.

“True,” interjected Kisuke, barely holding his composure. “He would totally ruin the image of a damsel in distress.”

Hichigo could not decide between looking thankful at the rescue and looking murderous at the slight, settling for a scowl instead. “Whatever.”

“What about just sticking with Shirosaki?” suggested Isshin.

Hichigo winced. “I refuse to have the word ‘white’ in my name. I can already see Ukitake-taichō bringing me baskets filled with sweets.” He shuddered.

“But that’s only because Tōshirō shares the last kanji word of his name with Ukitake-taichō,” objected Tsuzuki.

“He bounces around calling Tōshirō ‘Shiro-chan’!” exclaimed Hichigo. “I don’t think one missing character is going to make much of a difference to him! Besides,” he sobered. “Shiro was what Aizen had called me.”

“It looks like you’re set on the theme of white,” observed Isshin neutrally, sidestepping the reminder of the Hollow that had indirectly led to Masaki’s death.

Hichigo tilted his head thoughtfully. “It kind of fits me even now, don’t you agree?”

“Then… to take the _on_ reading of ‘white’, something starting with ‘haku-’?” Isshin suggested.

Tsuzuki grimaced. “That just reminds us of Rukia’s bankai.”

Kuchiki Rukia. One of the first few casualties of the war.

They bowed their heads in silence for a while.

“So, to follow the theme of white but not use the actual colour itself, how about Yukitō?” offered Yoruichi eventually.

“What the hell is a ‘snow peach’?” demanded Hichigo, jumping on the chance to get away from depressing topics.

“Then, Yukito?” she persisted.

“I’m not trying to become a noble! There’s no way I’m answering to ‘snow rabbit’!” protested Hichigo.

“Or we could give you a Spanish name,” mused Kisuke.

“No way!” Hichigo yelped. “I’m no longer an Arrancar, remember?”

“Good point,” Kisuke conceded. Then the evil glint was back. “So if you ever get Hollowfied can I name the Arrancar?”

Hichigo made a noise that sounded oddly like a yelp of terror. _‘Help me, King!’_

Tsuzuki snickered, but complied with the request. “Or how about we go with the normal name Yukimaru?”

There was a sudden silence as everyone ran out of objections.

“Fine,” groused the newly-dubbed Yukimaru.

“You still need a family name,” reminded Isshin.

About to open his mouth to reel off a long list of classmates’ family names, Tsuzuki was beaten by Yukimaru. “Umanose,” he stated confidently.

Kisuke sweatdropped. “You want to name yourself ‘horseback’?”

Yukimaru glared. “I want a new name that I can call my own, but that doesn’t mean I’ll forget what I’m doing here.” He sobered, gaze turning inward. “I recognise that we may have to wait a long time for our chance to kill Aizen, but this doesn’t mean I’ll ever forget our goal.” He looked up fiercely, locking gazes with a startled Tsuzuki. “I’ll never forget that once a long time ago I was nothing more than your Horse, King.”

Tsuzuki was suddenly reminded of the time there had been a crazy shinigami on the loose. The difference was that the shinigami had somehow managed to fuse with his zanpakutō, hence gaining a more powerful bankai form than what most could achieve. Renji had been dispatched to the real world to take care of the rogue shinigami. The annoying pineapple-head had dropped in through Ichigo’s window late one night, and proceeded to make himself at home.

“Was it because you need my help that you dropped by?” Ichigo had asked, in a rare burst of insight.

Renji had scowled and turned away. “It’s not like that,” he had protested quietly.

“Then, why?” Ichigo had pressed.

Renji had turned back to face him, cheeks pink. “Uh, I just dropped by to see your face,” he muttered.

Tsuzuki chuckled mentally. That was Renji all right, never asking for help out loud even if the redhead himself knew that he needed it.

Hichigo could act so much like Renji sometimes. The only difference was that Renji was dead, but Hichigo – _Yukimaru_ – was right there beside him.

The mental equivalent of a shove jolted Tsuzuki back to the present. “Baka,” he managed to retort weakly. “We’re konsōshi, remember? How will you ever forget who you had been, when I’ll always be in your head?”

Yoruichi smiled. “Well then, Shihōin Tsuzuki and Umanose Yukimaru, welcome to Seireitei!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art for this chapter:  
> [Aizen & Shinji](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com/post/81423932477/lasciviouslink-just-one-yesterday-fall)  
> [Shinji](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com/post/81424308265)  
> Sorry I couldn't find any good ones about Yoruichi.
> 
>  **Lines from canon:**  
>  “What part of me resembles Kurosaki?” – Ishida Uryū to delinquents, chapter 425  
> “I get it, I get it, I really do get it!” – Urahara Kisuke to Shihōin Yoruichi, chapter 404
> 
>  **Gems:** Opal symbolises the idea of forever. Amethyst, which is a deep violet, is from a scientific point of view an unconventional gemstone; it is also the symbol for friendship, spiritual strength and peace – the last of which Yoruichi had spent half her life fighting for. Jadeite symbolises virtue, strength of both body and mind, and success – a wish for Tessai.
> 
> Many thanks to Zephyrus Genesis for the idea of child!Kisuke using coal for himself – common, filthy and ignored, it is only kept around for its usefulness. What Kisuke did not consider at the time was that under extreme conditions that will break others, like being falsely accused of inhumane experiments and subsequently exiled, coal truly begins shine. A true diamond in the rough.


	3. Inori wo tsurete, kioku wo tsunagu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inori wo tsurete, kioku wo tsunagu（祈りをつれて、記憶をつなぐ）i.e. Taking the prayers, joining the memories
> 
> Working title is, Tsuzuki's chapter.

“Yoruichi-sama!”

No sooner had Tsuzuki set foot in the Shihōin Clan grounds than a blur appeared out of nowhere. Tsuzuki jerked on reflex, staring in wide-eyed fascination at the very alive, and very _young_ Suì-Fēng throwing herself at Yoruichi. Laughing, the woman caught the girl, ruffling her black hair affectionately.

Sometimes, he wondered if Yoruichi had ever regretted leaving her protégée behind. Perhaps Yoruichi had been trying to let Suì-Fēng step into her own right, out of her shadow, but it did not happen. Leader of the Stealth Corps, captain of the Second Division, mastery of shunpo, the Shunkō technique… all it drove Suì-Fēng to do was to try to fill shoes too large for her.

If he did not think about it too hard, he could almost pretend they were two different people – and in a way, they were. The Suì-Fēng in front of him was not the Suì-Fēng he knew, and with any luck, would never have to go through the pain and betrayal that would shape her into the woman he had known.

But this was good, it meant that he could compartmentalise, and pretend he was not staring at someone whose passing he had mourned. It helped that he had never seen her dead body before it dissolved into reishi particles, only heard about it second-hand.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to those corpses he _had_ held, before their reishi scattered into the surroundings. Would he be able to remain as composed as he was right now?

Without warning, a whisper of reiatsu forced Tsuzuki to duck out of the way instinctively as a fist smashed into where his face had been a moment ago. He glanced around wildly, spotting Yoruichi leaning against a nearby tree. To his surprise, she tilted her head much like a cat might do and gestured him to go ahead.

Eyes widening in surprise, he nevertheless did as bidden. Although Suì-Fēng would grow to become a formidable opponent in the future, right now compared to his skills – honed with death and desperation – she was only an amateur. The next time she blurred out of focus, Tsuzuki grabbed the arm headed his way. To her credit, Suì-Fēng barely paused, using his hold as leverage to kick out at Tsuzuki’s midsection. He casually blocked the hit with his other arm, channelling a slight bit of reiatsu into it to cushion the blow. His opponent paused, scowling minutely and shooting him a calculating glance.

With what was undoubtedly reiatsu-enhanced strength, she wrenched backwards the arm he had captive, at the same time using the momentum to flip into a one-handed handstand and kicking out both legs at him. Tsuzuki leant backwards, releasing her arm right before she could pull away. The lack of anchor caused Suì-Fēng to overbalance and land in an undignified sprawl on the ground.

Tsuzuki bowed properly, as equals to each other, as she clambered back to her feet, cheeks flushed red with embarrassment.

“Yoruichi-sama, who _is_ he?”

The woman smirked. “Remember how the council’s been bugging me to produce an heir? Well, I found one instead.”

Suì-Fēng spluttered all the way into the main clan house.

~*~*~*~

“Okaerinasai, kakka.”

Tsuzuki did not miss the narrow-eyed looks he was getting from the various retainers and household staff when they thought he was too busy gawking at the opulent surroundings. Having only been into the Kasumiōji Manor proper, he had no idea what the Family Manor of one of the Great Noble Clans looked like on the inside. Clearly, the one who had decorated this one had spared no expense. Rafters of smooth cherrywood crossed high over his head, heavy tapestries in gold and cream glittered beyond entryways, and intricate carvings adorned practically every other pillar they walked past.

_‘They probably think you’re my new lover.’_

He tripped and nearly fell at the sudden intrusion into his head. Nearby, where they thought him unable to see them, people were shaking their heads.

Although he was sure she could see them too, Yoruichi ignored them all, striding on with all the confidence of someone born into royalty.

Alarmed at her sudden words, Tsuzuki dearly wanted to ask her if she was joking, but had no means of replying. He still needed to concentrate very hard to find someone’s reiatsu ribbon, not to mention trying to project a coherent thought down it. There was no way he could do it while walking, like she evidently could. He stared hard at her back, willing her to read his mind.

A chuckle was his only response. He scowled.

“Yoruichi-dono.” As they passed through yet another of the seemingly endless gardens scattered throughout the Manor, one of the shōji doors slid open to reveal a burly man with the same dark skin and violet hair as Yoruichi.

Behind them, Suì-Fēng made a hissing noise, quickly stifled. Tsuzuki glanced back at her, only to see caution reflected in bright grey eyes. He inclined his head a fraction in acknowledgement and saw her eyes widen in surprise before he turned his attention back to the potential threat.

“Well met, Cousin Katsuo,” greeted Yoruichi placidly. Outwardly, she seemed as unflappable as ever, but Tsuzuki, who knew her too well, caught the way the trapezius muscles in her back tensed ever so slightly.

_‘Lower your eyes to the ground.’_

More prepared for it this time, Tsuzuki barely blinked in surprise. While pretending to be obediently focused on the ground, he watched their interactions through lowered lashes, growing more confused by the moment as they exchanged pleasantries so heavily inundated in archaic polite forms of Japanese that he could barely follow the conversation at times.

“And who may this young man by Yoruichi-dono’s side be?”

“A member of one of the Rukongai districts, who had distinguished himself in the higher arts despite the humbleness of his lowly background, and whose fostering had been provided for in the founding charters of our esteemed clan.”

“Is that so?” Katsuo’s tone remained bland, but the lines in Yoruichi’s back further drew together. Without warning, the man stepped forwards, away from Yoruichi, until he was facing Tsuzuki directly. “Then, please permit us to be the first to welcome him to our honourable clan.”

Tsuzuki bowed deeply and licked his lips, trying valiantly to recall all the samurai movies that he had watched in middle school to cobble up a halfway-decent reply. “This one thanks Shihōin-sama for the patronage,” he tried.

The man in front of him stiffened in badly-schooled surprise. “Where, if we may be so bold as to enquire,” he murmured, “did Yoruichi-dono discover such an individual schooled in the verses?”

“It appears that the sun has indeed smiled upon our encounter,” returned Yoruichi equally mildly, deflecting the question. “For this is but the latest of a truly remarkable list of achievements that our humble selves have been made privy to.”

Katsuo nodded slowly. “We must alert the council as to this joyous occasion at once.”

“We will not presume to trouble –” began Yoruichi, the first hint of a crack appearing in her calm façade, only to be interrupted.

“No, no, it will be our utmost pleasure.” Without waiting for a response, Katsuo hurried away in yet another direction different from the one Yoruichi had been headed in.

Only when his footsteps had faded did Yoruichi turn around, and let loose a few vicious curses.

“Yoruichi-sama!” gasped Suì-Fēng.

“We must hurry,” the woman instructed, ignoring her and setting off at a much brisker pace than before. Selecting a room almost at random, Yoruichi flung the door open and ushered the two of them in. The moment the door slid shut again, she began to speak. “That was Shihōin Katsuo, the previous heir of the clan. His name says everything you need to know about him. Has attained shikai, but not bankai. His family is still upset that I took the title of clan head instead of him.”

“By challenging, right?” ventured Tsuzuki, and was rewarded by a short, sharp nod. He winced. For someone named ‘victorious man’, it had to have been a harsh blow.

“There is no love lost between us, and by extension you as well.”

Tsuzuki blinked at that. “It didn’t seem like that to me?”

Yoruichi snorted. “We need to tutor you in formal verses and the art of insults once you become the heir. Anyway,” she barrelled on upon seeing Tsuzuki about to open his mouth, “the important thing is that he has gone to alert the council about you.”

“What makes this bad?” asked Tsuzuki.

“I had hoped to get the papers started and filed before subjecting you to the council. He’s ensuring that I have no time to prepare you for their interrogation, no time to get our stories straight and to drill some basic etiquette into you.”

“How long do we have?”

“With the amount of clout his family has?” Yoruichi scowled. “Three hours, maximum.”

Tsuzuki nodded. “What can I expect?”

“They’re likely to start off by asking for a demonstration of your skills to see if you’re befitting of the honour of being fostered,” mused Yoruichi out loud. “They may also ask you about the basic history of the Shihōin clan, which I haven’t had the time to teach you. Do you happen to remember anything I’ve told you before?”

“Uh, the Shihōin is traditionally in charge of the Onmitsukidō, which now has been merged with the Second Division, of which you are the captain?” Tsuzuki hazarded a guess. Yoruichi nodded. “The role of the Onmitsukidō is to collect information, guard the prison, and perform undercover or stealth-based missions.” He vaguely remembered Kisuke once mentioning his role as the Third Seat, and the rest were guessed from ninja movies he had watched as a child.

“There’s also a sub-division that delivers urgent messages,” added Yoruichi, looking pleased. “I don’t have the time to run through the entire history of the Shihōin clan, so here’s a very quick summary.”

Mentally, she added, _‘School your expression and don’t make a sound.’_

“The Shihōin Clan is the only one of the Five Great Noble Clans to be founded by a reincarnated instead of a born soul. This man was named Jinmu, who later became the first captain of the Second Division led by Yamamoto-sōtaichō.”

Tsuzuki was glad that she had warned him, for he would probably have spluttered out loud suspiciously had she not done so. As it were, his expression of shock went unseen by Suì-Fēng, who was behind him. Jinmu? As in, _Jinmu-tennō_ , the legendary first Emperor of Japan? He mentally calculated the rumoured dates of his reign, and corroborated that with what he knew of Soul Society. The Gotei Thirteen was established about two thousand years ago, right?

He was not sure whether to be stunned or awed that the dates matched up.

“Due to his actions in life, upon his death the Soul King had chosen to bestow upon him the Hōgu and the Bugu, the sacred tools of treasure and war. One of these is the Tenshiheisō, widely considered the most powerful spiritual tool in Seireitei. In each generation, the head of the Shihōin is tasked to be the Tenshiheisōban, the guardian of this powerful artefact and the defender of the realm.”

She took a moment to let him digest the information. “I am the twenty-second head of the Shihōin clan, the current Tenshiheisōban, the head of the Second Division and the Onmitsukidō. I have many titles, for instance, Suì-Fēng liked to call me gundanchō-kakka,” Yoruichi pulled a face at that.

The girl squeaked at being mentioned.

“So your rank in the Gotei Thirteen is called captain, your rank in the Onmitsukidō is called Corps Commander, and your rank in the nobility is called Your Excellency,” summarised Tsuzuki. He nodded slowly. “I think I can remember that.”

Your Excellency, though? Did that mean Yoruichi was the advisor to a king? The only king he could think of was the Soul King…

Resolving to ask her about that later, Tsuzuki refocused on the history crash-course he was receiving.

“Amongst the elders, the one you most have to watch out for is Katsuo’s father, Seishin. He was the head of the clan before me, and has never quite forgiven me for taking the position from his son. Just be patient and polite; he can’t actually do anything with me right there.”

_‘If they ask you for your life story, improvise and I’ll back you up.’_

“Okay,” Tsuzuki answered out loud, even as he tried to cram everything he had just learnt into his head. No different from cramming for any other school exam, he tried to remind himself, even if the stakes were a little – a lot – higher.

Closest to the door, Suì-Fēng suddenly perked up. “Yoruichi-sama,” she called.

“Already?” Yoruichi scowled. “They must have pulled out all the stops.” She clapped a hand on his shoulder as she jumped to her feet.

Right on cue, the door slid open, revealing a young child. She bowed deeply. “Yoruichi-sama, the presence of your foster has been requested at a council meeting.”

Giving the girl a nod, Yoruichi swept out of the room, as regal in her sleeveless and backless Onmitsukidō uniform as though she were in full formal kimono.

~*~*~*~

“So this is the boy,” murmured one of the old men lining the seats in the council chamber.

In his position facing the entire council, Tsuzuki felt as if he were on trial. It’s supposed to be daunting for a child fresh out of Rukongai, he supposed, but Tsuzuki had also faced far worse monsters than an assembly of elderly past their prime. It didn’t mean that he would underestimate what they were capable of, but they didn’t frighten him as much as they probably thought they did.

If Yoruichi-san could face down the entire Central 46, he could face down a council of sixteen.

“You speak thus convincingly, but I believe I speak for the others when I say that I would like a live demonstration of these skills,” declared one of the men present, seated at a place of honour.

Yoruichi bowed. “Certainly, Seishin-dono.”

At a gesture from Yoruichi, Tsuzuki stepped forwards, determined to do his best.

“Flare your reiatsu,” she instructed. _‘Remember, only the level of a lieutenant.’_ Obediently, he followed suit, letting a trickle of reiatsu escape from his tightly-compressed reserves. The council members exchanged looks of curiosity and even some of the vehement protestors were looking interested. Tsuzuki had no doubt there were several silent discussions going on about him.

“We will adjourn to the courtyard for actual combat,” decided a tiny old lady with so many wrinkles on her face that Tsuzuki briefly wondered how old she actually was. She looked as if she could have been Yamamoto’s age – and for all he knew, she _was_.

“Suì-Fēng,” called Yoruichi as soon as they had stepped outside.

The girl appeared next to her in a whisper of shunpo. “What is your wish, Yoruichi-sama?”

“If I may,” introduced Yoruichi. “This is Suì-Fēng, the current leader of my personal guard. She is an accomplished combatant at the level of a squadron leader in the Onmitsukidō.” The girl in question blushed at the praise. Tsuzuki watched her avidly. So this was what Suì-Fēng had been like a century ago? He could not help but wonder what would have happened if Yoruichi had never left Soul Society – or perhaps, had taken Suì-Fēng with her, the way she’d muttered one night while drunk.

“This is your opponent. Hakuda and hohō only. Begin!”

It was a demonstration of his ability, not Suì-Fēng’s, and Tsuzuki reacted accordingly. At once, he shot forward, adding just a slight touch of reiatsu to his steps to turn it into a slow shunpo. Suì-Fēng blocked his initial barrage of attacks, returning a roundhouse kick. Tsuzuki smoothly kicked into a faster shunpo, blurring and reappearing behind her. Suì-Fēng’s eyes widened at the sudden display of speed, automatically dodging and sending him a reiatsu-enhanced punch. As before, Tsuzuki grabbed her arm, but this time used her momentum and surprise to toss her in a judo throw over his shoulder. He pinned her to the ground, looking up at Yoruichi for further guidance.

Yoruichi nodded in approval, so he offered Suì-Fēng a hand up. His opponent took it, face again blank of emotions. “Was that to your satisfaction?” Yoruichi asked the council.

They muttered amongst themselves for a while.

“What is your opinion of his combat ability, daughter of the Fēng Family?” one of them, not Seishin, finally asked.

“Nanashi-san is more skilled than I,” replied Suì-Fēng, rather stiffly.

Several council members seemed to take her assessment at face value, though the majority of them looked at least slightly dubious.

“It is well known that the girl has Yoruichi-dono’s favour,” countered one of them.

Tsuzuki barely held back a snort. As if Yoruichi’s approval of someone else meant anything to the girl, who made it her duty to be suspicious of anyone and everyone close to her mentor. Suì-Fēng’s hatred of Yoruichi’s best friend was legendary.

“Perhaps we should arrange for an independent evaluation then?” suggested Yoruichi.

“I approve of that.”

Tsuzuki’s eyes flickered almost unnoticeably to Seishin.

“It appears that Seishin-dono has someone in mind already,” murmured Yoruichi thoughtfully.

“I would propose my son, Katsuo. As the previous clan heir, it seems fitting that he is allowed to test your choice for this position.”

Tsuzuki could barely hold in a sigh this time. Katsuo, of course. Why was he not surprised in the least?

However, there was an instant uproar at Seishin’s words. Tsuzuki, who was right next to Yoruichi, could feel the slightest hint of irritation in her tightly-controlled reiatsu. What did he miss?

“I have only stated my intention to induct him as a foster of the Shihōin clan. There was nothing mentioned about heirship.”

Uh.

That was bad… right?

Seishin steepled his fingers. “And yet, this is the first time you have brought such an individual home in decades, shortly after we the council have begun asking when you will beget an heir.”

“A _Nanashi_ as the heir to our honourable clan?” barked another council member. Incredulous murmurs spread as the idea was discussed.

Tsuzuki scowled ever so faintly. From Kurosaki Ichigo to Nameless of Rukongai in just a day.

He hadn’t really grasped the difference between nobles and commoners until now. If this was what Byakuya had to deal with all the time, he could begin to understand the other noble’s attitude now. He felt a surge of sympathy for the man, who had endured this process twice – once for his wife, once for Rukia. For somebody he cared about to be caustically termed _Nanashi_ , as if her name did not exist just because she was not born a noble, it offended his twenty-first-century morals.

Their superiority complex reminded him a little of Aizen, actually. After four years, Aizen still only ever called him _ryoka boy_ or _human_ , refusing to acknowledge him just because he had not been born in Seireitei.

“We do accept your proposal,” announced Yoruichi fearlessly, slicing through the cacophony like a knife through butter.

Seishin’s eyes widened slightly, before his face fell back into its impassive mask. “Very well then,” he declared, raising his voice. “Katsuo?”

Unlike Suì-Fēng, when Katsuo appeared not the slightest movement nor sound was detectable. “Yes, otō-sama?”

“This is your opponent for the position of the next clan heir.”

“As you command, otō-sama.”

Without warning, Katsuo vanished from sight, and Tsuzuki barely skidded backwards to avoid the blow aimed at his temple. He grimaced. That would have _hurt_. It was followed by three quick jabs that he twisted out of the way of, trying to put some distance between them.

_‘He’s aiming to kill!’_

Tsuzuki froze for a fraction of a second, but it was all Katsuo needed.

An open-palmed smack to his sternum sent him flying, crashing into one of the pillars, which splintered under the force. Tsuzuki braced his hands on the ground, feeling blood bubble up the back of his throat. He turned his head and weakly spat out a mouthful of blood. Not good, that last blow definitely cracked his sternum and fractured a few ribs – Katsuo had been aiming for his heart. Had he been anyone else, he would have died. As it were, only instinct had saved him – he had redirected enough reiatsu to just barely counter and redirect most of the force aimed at his heart, at the cost to the rest of his body.

Had he been a normal Rukongai civilian, the battle would have been over.

Tsuzuki peered up through the bangs shadowing his face, catching Yoruichi’s eye unerringly. She was frowning ever so slightly, but unlike Suì-Fēng beside her, she looked neither alarmed nor horrified. So, Yoruichi believed that he still could win. Even as he watched, her eyes flickered downwards in a silent apology.

He took a few experimental breaths, pleased when they did not hurt excessively. He could still do this. Everything depended on him defeating the man standing before him. This was something that he understood, more than political battles or tactical plans. This was something that he could _do_ , that he excelled at. He was fighting not only for himself, but for his new brother Yukimaru, for Yoruichi-san and Kisuke-san, for his father, for Inoue, for all his friends in the future: he would not fail them. He would protect them all.

Taking a deep breath, Tsuzuki got to his feet.

“Is that all?”

To his credit, Katsuo’s eyes merely narrowed and he slid back fluidly into a combat stance.

Going on the offensive, Tsuzuki shot for the other man at a speed he had not displayed previously, and was rewarded by a small gasp as Katsuo almost did not manage to dodge in time. He swept his right leg to the back of Katsuo’s knees, at the same time bringing his hand down in a devastating chop across the other’s neck.

Katsuo arched his back, smoothly bringing himself into a backwards somersault to avoid both attacks while at the same time kicking out at Tsuzuki’s right leg. Not bothered by the attack, Tsuzuki completed both motions, using his hand to deflect Katsuo while his body twisted sideways with the movement of his leg.

Testing stage over, they sized each other up, before breaking into a flurry of blows. Remembering Yoruichi’s warning earlier, Tsuzuki deflected or dodged each attack, not letting Katsuo land any hits on his original targets. He was not well-versed enough in either martial arts or human anatomy to understand why she had called them killing blows, but even he could see that many of Katsuo’s attacks were calculated to inflict crippling damage.

Increasing his speed further, he frowned as Katsuo matched him, neither side gaining an overwhelming advantage. They broke apart, each gasping for breath, assessing each other. Tsuzuki was still favouring his ribs, but he knew that Katsuo had at least a fractured leg in addition to a growing collection of bruises.

Drawing back slightly, Katsuo’s eyes narrowed and he leapt forwards suddenly, at what was likely near his top speed. Wary, Tsuzuki settled into a defensive stance.

In the middle of his charge, Katsuo unsheathed the sword strapped to his leg – no, not a sword, it was too short, this was either a ko-wakizashi or a long tantō. The straight blade suggested a tantō, although Tsuzuki did not know enough about weapons to be sure. He would have to rectify that. From the fleeting look that just flashed across Yoruichi’s face, he was prepared to bet that this was Katsuo’s zanpakutō and not just a normal dagger.

Then there was no _think_ , because Katsuo was on him, and had the other man been so fast earlier?

Tsuzuki dropped the block he had put up by habit, leaping backwards to give himself more space to manoeuvre away from the tantō. He was not going to test the strength of his resolve against _that_ , not with the determination gleaming in Katsuo’s eyes, and especially not when he had to consciously dampen his output to a minimum.

A few strands of indigo floating past his vision told him that he was not fast enough.

Tsuzuki resisted the urge to watch them fall. “Thanks for the haircut,” he told the other impishly.

Katsuo growled, ever so faintly, his aloof mask crumbling at the edges.

However, Tsuzuki was at a disadvantage, and both of them knew it. The zanpakutō gave Katsuo extra reach, something Tsuzuki could not counter barehanded unless he was vastly faster than Katsuo. After watching Katsuo _move_ , he would not bet his life on that.

Tsuzuki ducked under a swing, and swerved hastily sideways as Katsuo smoothly transited from a slash aimed at chest-level into one downwards. He was as good a swordsman as he had been a hakuda combatant, definitely worthy of the title of clan heir.

What would he give to have a weapon with him right now?

Only his finely-tuned senses warned him of an incoming object aimed for his head, and he snatched the – wooden bokken? – out of mid-air.

“This was his weapon when I found him,” announced Yoruichi amidst the fresh outbreak of muttering. Tsuzuki tried to school his face from showing his surprise. Where did she even get that wooden training sword from? Then his gaze skittered past her, onto the scowling Suì-Fēng, and then to the blond who had somehow appeared beside them while he was concentrating on Katsuo.

Damn that man for thinking of _everything_.

Katsuo eyed the slim piece of wood, one eyebrow raised.

Tsuzuki hefted it experimentally in his right hand. It was just the right weight for Tensa Zangetsu too. Definitely Kisuke’s work.    

Just the feel of a sword in his hand settled his frazzled nerves. Tsuzuki settled into a basic stance that he had developed for Tensa Zangetsu, senses at full alert.

Metal screeched off wood, Tsuzuki having switched to a two-handed block at the last moment, legs spread for better balance, one hand braced against the wooden blade to catch Katsuo’s swing.

Katsuo’s eyebrows shot up.

Tsuzuki smirked in a clear challenge.

The other man did not disappoint, blurring into motion so fast Tsuzuki had to rely on his burgeoning reiatsu senses to keep a lock on the other man, receiving a few shallow nicks on his limbs for his trouble. Like fighting Gin during the Fake Karakura Town battles, he was slowly getting used to Katsuo’s timing and habits.

 _Swaying_ out of the way of an upward swing, Tsuzuki swung his own bokken upwards, locking their blades and forcing them away from their bodies. His left hand snaked towards Katsuo’s sternum in a blow that should incapacitate the other man.

Not a trace of apprehension in his features, Katsuo _tossed_ his tantō in a high arc over his head. Tsuzuki almost did not react in time as Katsuo’s other hand came up, lightning-fast, caught the tantō by the hilt without even looking and scored a deep gouge across his clavicle. The blade bit into bone, caught for a moment, and then pulled free.

_He’s ambidextrous?_

To his surprise, Katsuo drew back without pressing his advantage, eyeing the slash in his shoulder with deep interest. Too late, Tsuzuki realised that he had instinctively concentrated his reiatsu to the wound, stifling the flow of blood to a trickle and turning the debilitating injury into a non-critical one. It was a technique that Unohana-taichō had taught them before they had set off to challenge Aizen in Hueco Mundo, something that could mean the difference between life and death if done right. After all these years, it was already second nature.

Katsuo’s contemplative look transferred to his own zanpakutō, glistening red with blood. Tsuzuki could almost hear the gears in his brain turning. If even taking him by complete surprise in close quarters did not work, then…

Then Katsuo grinned, ever so faintly. Tsuzuki had perhaps half a second to feel truly alarmed when Katsuo spoke for the first time in their battle.

“Kiro, Keisō.”

Half-incredulous, half-stunned, Tsuzuki took the first few moments just to _observe_. The single long tantō turned into a pair of shorter tantō, each with the same diamond shapes decorating its hilt. What was more perturbing was that each tantō was _double-edged_ unlike a regular sword or knife, and on top of that the blade tapered to a point at the tip.

The small daggers did not look very impressive to most shinigami, perhaps, but Tsuzuki was no novice who measured power by size. If the release command had meant anything, the deceptively thin blades would slice his bokken in two if he tried to use it to block.

Katsuo spun one and then the other idly, shifting both of them into a reverse grip. Tsuzuki’s eyes flickered over the confident way he held them, seeing a surety borne from decades of experience and not false bravado. Despite the unconventional style, this was no amateur he was facing.

In the span of a single blink, Katsuo was _gone_.

Tsuzuki threw himself backwards with a reiatsu-enhanced jump, and not a moment too soon, for Katsuo appeared in his previous position, daggers poised to stab through his abdomen.

He finally understood what to be “Shihōin-fast” meant. And to think, he had thought it was a term coined for Yoruichi-san alone. Tsuzuki growled low in his throat. To hell with her directive, if he continued displaying the skills of a mere lieutenant he was going to get killed.

The next time Katsuo charged, Tsuzuki _vanished_ with a loud crack.

Katsuo halted a fraction of a second before spinning abruptly around, raising his daggers in a cross-guard.

Tsuzuki appeared above Katsuo, gathered his reiatsu and shouted a kiai. There was no room for error, no doubt in his steely resolve.

There was the sound of metal upon metal.

Using the locked blades as leverage and the momentum from his jump, Tsuzuki delivered a powerful knee drop directly into Katsuo’s solar plexus.

The other man choked, loosening his grip on his daggers at the reiatsu-enhanced blow to his unprotected stomach, and staggered backwards. Pressing forwards, Tsuzuki swept both his legs out from under him with a vicious kick and brought his own sword smashing down with another loud cry.

The bokken buried itself a few inches into solid rock, so close to Katsuo’s face that he briefly went cross-eyed staring at it.

The silence was deafening.

~*~*~*~

Tsuzuki leant heavily on the bokken, gasping for breath. Now that the adrenaline rush was receding, his injuries were clamouring to make themselves known in a most painful manner. He gingerly laid a hand on his ribs, where Katsuo had landed his first blow, and tried to ease the small jolts of pain each breath caused.

“Surely Seishin-dono has no further objections?”

There was an even longer pause this time, long enough for Katsuo to slowly get to his feet, his zanpakutō held loosely in one hand. “May I?” he asked, gesturing to the bokken.

Tsuzuki eyed him, and then nodded. Just in case, he edged into a semi-defensive stance.

Katsuo yanked the bokken out of the ground with one hand and gave it an experimental swing. Then, without warning, he brought his shikai daggers down on the blade. The wood splintered cleanly with a sharp crack, the unsupported end clattering to the ground. Picking the dropped end up, Katsuo inspected the cut edges carefully. Frowning slightly, he then proceeded to snap one half of the bokken into another further two pieces, ignoring Tsuzuki’s outraged protests.

Then Katsuo looked up and met Tsuzuki’s eyes for the first time outside their battle. The former clan heir shrugged almost ruefully, flipped one of his daggers into the air and caught it with the other, letting them melt back into their sealed form and sheathing it back in his thigh holster with a practised motion.

“I concede,” he told the council clearly.

No one seemed to know how quite to respond to this declaration, lest of all Seishin.

Finally, an elderly woman spoke up. “What about his skills at kidō?”

Tsuzuki frowned. Was she kidding? How could a Rukongai civilian know anything about kidō?

He nearly missed the shadow of a smirk on Yoruichi’s face. “Imitate this,” Yoruichi informed him, and Tsuzuki could not help but stare. She could not really be testing his _kidō_ skills, could she? “Gather reiatsu into your hand, and repeat after me.” Apparently, she could.

“Kunrinsha yo! Chiniku no kamen, banshō, habataki, hito no na o kansu mono yo! Shōnetsu to sōran, umihedate sakamaki minami e to ho o susume yo! Hadō no sanjū-ichi, Shakkahō!” he cried, doing his best to limit the level of reiatsu gathered in his palm and to keep it from fluctuating. He was so close to getting it _right_ , he had no idea what Yoruichi was thinking but if she wanted him to demonstrate kidō there was obviously a very good reason for it, and he was going to do his damned best not to fail her.

Yoruichi’s orb of crimson energy punched a perfectly round hole in the far wall, whereas his attempt blasted off a jagged chunk of wood about the size of his fist. Tsuzuki winced. At least it was in the direction he aimed in and the damage was mostly contained.

“You say he is uninstructed in the ways of the shinigami?” clarified another council member, leaning forward to scrutinise him.

“Yes. He is simply a very fast learner and able to adapt quickly,” she explained.

Tsuzuki gaped, barely remembering to ensure his mouth did not drop open in shock. The conniving cat! Instead of declaring that he knew nothing of kidō – which everyone present was obviously already aware of – she turned it to his advantage by allowing them to witness what was – to their knowledge – his first attempt at a kidō and to see first-hand his ability to pick up new things.

The council muttered amongst themselves for a while, but it was clear that there was nothing that could be criticised about his combat abilities.

“Who taught you how to fight?”

A child of the twenty-first century, he knew the trick to surviving an interrogation with those who made it their jobs to detect falsehoods. Speak only the truth, but not the full truth.

Tsuzuki grinned, and replied honestly, “A candy store owner.”

Yoruichi _choked_.

Undeterred, Seishin merely narrowed his eyes and continued the inquisition. “What was this individual’s name?”

“He called himself a humble shopkeeper,” deflected Tsuzuki.

He fancied he could hear Kisuke’s echoing peals of laughter, despite the fact that the blond outwardly had maintained an impressive poker face.

~*~*~*~*~

_Earlier that day…._

~*~*~*~*~

 “Yoruichi-sama!”

Yoruichi grinned as she ruffled her little bee’s hair. Suì-Fēng pouted a little, but they both knew it was a token protest. The girl smiled up at her mentor, sending little jolts of pain through Yoruichi's heart as her image overlapped with that of her older self, no less eager to please.

And then, inevitably, those eyes caught sight of Tsuzuki. Yoruichi heaved a small sigh as Suì-Fēng's eyes narrowed, letting go of her. “Who are you?” she demanded, scowling. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Yoruichi. “What is _he_ doing here?”

Tsuzuki did not respond for a moment, gaze turned inwards. Yoruichi barely resisted the urge to whack him upside the head. The youth really needed to learn to stop with the introspection in public, it could get him attacked someday – like now. Without warning, Suì-Fēng, who had been glaring at him for daring to ignore her question, vanished with a whisper of reiatsu.

Leaning against a tree, Yoruichi only smiled and tilted her head in tacit permission when Tsuzuki looked towards her as he skidded backwards to avoid another punch. Best to get him on Suì-Fēng’s good side as soon as possible, she had a feeling that he would need as many allies as he could find in the upcoming days. Especially if –

Her gaze darkened as she spotted several tell-tale shadows abruptly wink out of existence in her peripheral vision. Seishin should really train them properly. Did they not know that peripheral vision was best for detecting movement?

She conveniently ignored the little voice at the back of her head that sounded far too much like Kisuke telling her that a cat’s peripheral field of vision was larger than a human’s so it probably was not _their_ fault per se.

“Yoruichi-sama, who _is_ he?”

Yoruichi smirked. “Remember how the council is bugging me to produce an heir? Well, I found one instead.”

~*~*~*~

Striding into the Shihōin Manor, Yoruichi ignored with practice the whispers that Tsuzuki drew from behind their backs. The perks of preternatural hearing meant that unlike the youth, _she_ could hear the uncomplimentary things they were muttering under their breaths. Clearly, they were not working hard enough if they had the time to stand around and gossip about her sex life of all things – she raised an eyebrow upon hearing a particularly imaginative tale involving her, Kisuke, Tessai and Tsuzuki in a love polygon rivalling something you’d only find in a soap opera. Really now, perhaps she should recommend that particular guard for a post at Seireitei Communications, his time might be better spent there.

Just to tease the youth, she dropped a hint of the idea in Tsuzuki’s head. It was so amusing to watch him trip over nothing, cheeks flushing a flaming red, that she could not help chuckling. The youth was still too fun to tease sometimes.

Her ears twitched at a barely-perceptible sound and she sobered immediately.

_‘Lower your eyes to the ground.’_

She noted with approval that Tsuzuki followed suit without a single protest. Good. If nothing else, maturity and a war had taught him to defer to others’ judgement in emergencies – and this certainly qualified as one.

“Well met, Cousin Katsuo,” Yoruichi greeted. _Who knew how many scouts you had sent out before you arranged for this little ‘accidental meeting’?_

Katsuo smiled genially back. “Upon receiving word of our honourable head’s return, we hastened to greet her.” _You were not the slightest bit discreet in your little display, cousin._

Yoruichi sniffed slightly. Still as pretentious as ever, carelessly wielding the royal ‘we’ as if it were his birthright.

They fenced a little while more with pleasantries veiled in insults, before Katsuo broached the reason for his approach. “And who may this young man by Yoruichi-dono’s side be?” His tone contained the barest hint of derision. No doubt he too had heard the same rumours as she had on his way over.

“A member of one of the Rukongai districts, who had distinguished himself in the higher arts despite the humbleness of his lowly background, and whose fostering had been provided for in the founding charters of our esteemed clan,” returned Yoruichi in a saccharine tone, subtly reminding Katsuo of the Shihōin tradition to foster talented Rukongai civilians, a tradition that she was well within her right as clan head to follow.

“Is that so?” Katsuo’s tone turned haughty for the briefest moment, and he spoke directly to Tsuzuki before she could formulate a reply.

“This one thanks Shihōin-sama for the patronage.”

Yoruichi’s eyebrows shot up, and Katsuo stiffened in surprise so obvious that even Tsuzuki should be able to pick up on it. So, clearly Tsuzuki had been taught the formal verses somewhere – though she could not figure out where in modern Japan he could have learnt such a thing. It was a pleasant surprise; she had been half-expecting to have to teach him from scratch. Although he was a little off, ‘this one’ was a not a term she would have chosen personally had she been in his shoes. For a supposedly uneducated Rukongai civilian, Tsuzuki was showing remarkable amounts of depth.

“It appears that the sun has indeed smiled upon our encounter,” she could not help but needle Katsuo again.

And then Katsuo agreed with her.

Yoruichi only had a moment to panic before he launched his own attack, evidently having gathered his wits about him. On some level, she was so very proud that Tsuzuki could evoke such a reaction in him – Katsuo was clearly _troubled_ by this “Rukongai civilian”, enough to activate his trump card. She watched his swiftly retreating back, her face frozen in its practised mask of geniality.

Either he had put too much stock in those rumours, or, far more likely, in his haste Katsuo forgot that _she_ had a trump card left.

_‘Kisuke? I think I have a little problem.’_

~*~*~*~

She revised her opinion of the youth. Just enough to follow the literal meaning of their conversation, but completely missing the subtext, carried in the subtle inflections of tone and barest flickers in choice vocabulary. Never mind, he could learn. If he was given the time to.

Yoruichi glanced at the silent Suì-Fēng in the corner nearest the door and launched into an abbreviated history lesson, keeping her references vague.

~*~*~*~

 _‘I would propose my son, Katsuo. As the previous clan heir, it seems fitting that he is allowed to test your choice for this position,’_ she repeated mentally, for the benefit of Kisuke.

Yoruichi carefully unclenched her jaw, not letting a trace of irritation show on her face.

_‘Breathe. He’s testing you.’_

“I have only stated my intention to induct him as a foster of the Shihōin clan. There was nothing mentioned about heirship,” she announced out loud, at the same time transcribing the conversation word-for-word down the line of communication that she had established with Kisuke shortly after the meeting began.

_‘And yet, this is the first time you have brought such an individual home in decades, shortly after we the council have begun asking when you will beget an heir.’_

Her reiatsu twitched ever so slightly at the jab at Kisuke and Tessai, and again when they started discussing Tsuzuki loudly as if he were not in front of them. She could only hope the youth could hold his notorious temper for a while longer. Ripping into the sanctimonious ignoramuses, as much as she would have enjoyed seeing it, needed to wait until after he was formally recognised as the clan heir.

“We do accept your proposal.” Sensing that he was on the brink, Yoruichi hastily silenced the council with the only words that she knew _could_.

Seishin’s eyes narrowed and she knew what he was thinking. A Rukongai civilian in a spar with Shihōin Katsuo, the current Corps Commander of the Executive Militia branch of the Onmitsukidō?

“Katsuo?”

“Yes, otō-sama?”

“This is your opponent for the position of the next clan heir.”

Halfway through her transmission, Yoruichi let a startled curse loose as the words registered. _‘So this was what they were after,’_ she muttered grimly. If Katsuo could not be the clan head, he could be her clan heir – all this phrased in a challenge that she could not back down from, now that she had declared Tsuzuki her champion. Seishin had clearly _planned_ this.

Kisuke was silent for a long while.

_‘Monitor the situation.’_

The battle commenced, and Yoruichi became increasingly alarmed as Tsuzuki went on the defensive, as he was wont to do, to observe the movements of a new enemy before he began his counterattack. He seemed completely unaware that Katsuo was not testing him, like his regular enemies usually did. Those were not sparring techniques – the first blow to the temple was aimed directly where one of the main arteries to the brain lay, and each further jab was to a major pressure point. A single hit would mean the end.

She had to _warn_ him.

_‘He’s aiming to kill!’_

And then Tsuzuki froze, his hesitation so slight that most of the council had probably missed it, but Katsuo wasn’t the Fourth Seat of the Second for no reason.

Suì-Fēng’s reiatsu rippled in slight distress as an open-palmed smack meant to crush the heart sent Tsuzuki flying directly into a pillar.

Shadowed brown eyes glanced up, directly at her, their owner remaining still for a moment.

Yoruichi lowered her eyes in a silent apology.

There was no time for anything more elaborate, for Tsuzuki was already getting to his feet, determination glittering in his reiatsu.

Katsuo narrowed his eyes and settled into his favourite offensive combat stance. Like the rest of the Corps Commanders, Katsuo had been extensively trained in anatomical knowledge. Unlike most of them, however, his fighting style aimed more to cripple rather than disable, pinpointing the exact locations on his opponent that would allow him to inflict maximal damage.

Tsuzuki, on the other hand, tended to subconsciously pull his blows before they became fatal or aim for non-vital areas. Somehow, years of fighting humanoid Arrancar hadn’t gotten that particular tendency out of his head.

Katsuo turned his dodge into a backflip to avoid both of Tsuzuki’s attacks, using his nearer leg to kick out at Tsuzuki’s outstretched leg in a move that would dislocate the youth’s hip should it connect.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Tsuzuki met Katsuo head-on, deflecting or dodging the other man’s blows such that none of them hit their original targets. Yoruichi was reluctantly impressed – it looked like all it took for Tsuzuki to really get going was knowing that his life was on the line. Perhaps the youth himself was too inexperienced to see it, but Yoruichi noted that Tsuzuki’s eclectic hakuda style, which refined street brawl with dojo-learnt karate, threw the formally-trained Katsuo for a loop. There was no learnt counter to a style that departed so far from the common schools of martial arts, only instinct. Katsuo was doing an admirable job of learning on the fly, but now and then a hit would come from a totally unexpected direction and take him completely by surprise.

Then Katsuo leapt forwards, drawing his tantō in a classic iaido move that would take Tsuzuki’s head off if it connected. Yoruichi watched the armed Katsuo press his advantage with the unarmed Tsuzuki with no small amount of trepidation – they were already nearly evenly-matched in hakuda, to add a weapon into the mix tipped the balance vastly in Katsuo’s favour.

A _very_ familiar reiatsu winked into existence beside her.

“My apologies for the interruption,” Kisuke murmured pleasantly. “Here is the item that Yoruichi-san had requested.” Without another word, he lobbed the slim piece of wood in his hands at Tsuzuki’s head.

Yoruichi held back both a bark of exasperated laughter and an incredulous sigh as Tsuzuki reached back and caught the bokken with one hand, without even looking at it. That was Kisuke all right, always doing his own thing with no regard to anyone else. She had long learnt it was best to just give him free reign, and follow at a safe distance to pick up the pieces left in the wake of his destruction.

_‘Do you even know the meaning of bed rest?’_

It was a rhetorical question, they both knew, and Kisuke did not bother giving a verbal reply.

Tsuzuki fluidly settled into his standard offensive stance for Tensa Zangetsu – built for speed and agility, she could almost see several of the council members taking note, and mentally grinned. Another point in his favour. Katsuo’s tentative first slash was blocked confidently, the youth having transited smoothly into the two-handed block that he favoured with his old oversized shikai.

A hint of uncertainty flitted across Katsuo’s face. Tsuzuki’s self-assurance poured off him in waves, solidifying in the bokken in his hands. There was not a single idle thought, not a shadow of doubt that the wood could withstand metal. Only the fierce determination to win _burned_ in his reiatsu.

In that moment, she was so proud of him that it _hurt_.

“Kiro, Keisō.”

Yoruichi twitched before she could stop herself. Tsuzuki had really rattled Katsuo – she had known Katsuo was ambidextrous, but as any good shinigami did, he preferred to conceal the majority of his abilities. For him to actually bust out all his trumps in what was meant to be a mere spar – she wondered what Seishin had threatened him with should he actually _lose_.

The tantō, originally the length of a ko-wakizashi, melted seamlessly into its shikai form – a pair of moroha. A very rare type of double-edged dagger with the tip tapering to a point, it could be used to slash in either direction or stab. The additional shinogi in the middle, running to the point offered the blades extra strength, allowing him to block with them if necessary. And with Katsuo’s preferred style – yes, he was transferring them both to a reverse grip now, he really was _serious_ – these were deadly weapons.

Katsuo leapt forwards with blinding speed, moroha poised to stab through Tsuzuki’s abdomen in a standard assassination technique. Only amateurs aimed for the chest – the ribcage protected the internal organs effectively against blades, and was vulnerable only to blunt trauma. No, to kill someone with a sharp object, a professional knew to aim for the stomach and twist the dagger _up_ , letting the blade rip through the paper-thin diaphragm and directly into the heart from below.

Tsuzuki hesitated, as though contemplating a course of action. She could almost _see_ the moment he decided to throw all caution to the wind – the next time Katsuo charged forwards, Tsuzuki responded with a shunpo so fast that at close range he must have seemed to have disappeared. Only her eyes, long used to tracking motion at the kind of speed that he was displaying, caught his movements as his momentum carried him behind Katsuo to evade the other’s field of vision – at least _someone_ knew to stay out of peripheral vision – performed a side-step to twist his body back around, and _leapt_.

To his credit, Katsuo actually reacted in time – a few spars with her, who was even faster, could do that to a person’s reflexes, she supposed. Tsuzuki’s reiatsu _glinted_ as he loosed a kiai, shattering the silence, and brought his bokken down without a shred of hesitation upon Katsuo’s crossed daggers.

Metal clashed against _metal_.

Katsuo’s reiatsu flared in utter shock for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. In a complete role-reversal from before, Tsuzuki slammed his knee directly into Katsuo’s coeliac plexus. The involuntary reaction Katsuo’s stomach gave and the _pain_ radiating across all the nerves caused his grip to loosen, just a little, and sent him off-balance.

It was over.

Not an amateur himself, Tsuzuki wasted no time in capitalising on the moment of weakness, kicking both of Katsuo’s legs out from under him and with another war-cry brought his bokken down into the solid rock beneath them. It sank through like a diamond through glass, quivering in front of Katsuo’s wide eyes.

That last blow would have killed Katsuo, and everyone present knew that.

The fight draining out of him, Tsuzuki kept one hand resting heavily on the bokken buried into the ground, his other hand coming to ghost over his ribs. Slowly, he straightened as his reiatsu resettled itself around him.

“Surely Seishin-dono has no further objections?” Yoruichi had to ask. Both Tsuzuki and Katsuo would require medical attention fairly soon, now that adrenaline was no longer holding either of them together. The sooner they could end this council meeting, the better.

The lack of response made her despair, just a little.

To her surprise, Katsuo actually asked – and then _waited_ for permission to be granted before reaching for Tsuzuki’s bokken. His reiatsu flickered very slightly when Tsuzuki slid back into a defensive stance the moment he got up – it was too brief for her to pick up on a definite emotion, but there was no aggression in it. To be on the safe side, she shifted her weight subtly onto her dominant leg, measuring the distance between her and Tsuzuki with a practised eye. Should Katsuo try anything, she would be poised to interfere, as was her right, now that the battle was rather decisively finished. Even Seishin would be hard-pressed to declare it inconclusive just because Katsuo did not declare his defeat aloud.

Katsuo peered at the slim piece of wood in his hands, tested its weight, and sliced it into two with a single swing. He squinted at the cut edges, and then broke one of the pieces into two using his bare hands alone. Unseen, Yoruichi smirked inwardly. Let him examine it to his satisfaction. He would find no trick nor treachery – for it really was just a piece of wood, carved and polished until it was the exact replica of Tensa Zangetsu. Everything else – the shocking durability, the strength, even the sound of metal – that was the result of Tsuzuki’s _resolve_ pulsing through this semblance of his trusted partner, conferring upon it the properties of an actual sword.

“I concede.”

Seishin’s face spasmed as though he had eaten a particularly sour lemon.

~*~*~*~

“Who taught you to fight?”

Tsuzuki’s gaze did not waver, but there was the hint of a _sparkle_ in his reiatsu as he answered guilelessly, “A candy store owner.”

Yoruichi _choked_ , the rest of her response hastily channelled inwards through Kisuke’s reiatsu ribbon before any of it showed in her demeanour.

 _‘Remarkable,’_ sighed Kisuke in breathless appreciation.

“What was this individual’s name?”

“He called himself a humble shopkeeper.”

Kisuke’s reiatsu _fluttered_ as he barely got his laughter under control. _‘I’m flattered that he remembered.’_

 _‘I almost pity Seishin,’_ commented Yoruichi as they watched Tsuzuki flow around their questions with half-truths coated in a deceptive mildness. If only the fifteen-year-old teenager could see himself now, all wide-eyed and practically oozing innocence, the complete opposite of the cool image that he had tried so hard to portray.

Tsuzuki had really grown up.

“When did you first meet Yoruichi-dono?”

“She came across me training one day not long ago.” Time was relative, of course, and four years was but the blink of an eye to a shinigami.

“Where did this occur?”

“It was somewhere filled with a lot of barren rock, mostly cliffs.”

She could see most of the council members mentally going over their maps of Rukongai, eventually settling on one of the remote mountainous districts.

“Last question,” decided one of the council members. She steepled her fingers and leant forwards. “Are you the secret love-child of Yoruichi-dono and Urahara-san?”

Tsuzuki turned very incredulous eyes on the speaker. “No.”

“Not that he is aware of,” corrected Seishin in an unconvinced tone.

Yoruichi _stared_.

“When,” she asked in utter disbelief, “would this have happened?”

“There had been many long-term missions in Yoruichi-dono’s youth, some of which extended for years,” countered Seishin calmly. “And we all know the indiscretions of youth.” His gaze flickered briefly over his own son and Tsuzuki before coming to rest on her.

Yoruichi bristled, rage bubbling up within her at the mention of those _missions_.

“Be that as it may,” interjected Kisuke smoothly, speaking aloud for the first time since his entrance. “This youth is barely a few decades younger than Yoruichi-san. It would be impossible for any child of hers to reach such a physical age.”

She gritted her teeth and calmed herself at the warning reflected in his eyes.

“Improbable, not impossible,” rebutted Seishin. “There have been recorded exceptions in history of souls experiencing unprecedented growth rates.”

The blond barely blinked. “These same records also state extreme environmental stress as the chief driving force for this phenomenon.”

“On what grounds,” Yoruichi zinged back mildly, before Seishin could formulate another argument, “is Seishin-dono basing these accusations?”

Seishin opened his mouth, then visibly took a deep breath and released it. “Merely the disquiet of an old man, who fears for the honour of our esteemed head,” he replied distantly.

Yoruichi bowed formally. “Please rest assured that no such indiscretion has been committed,” she uttered in a tone of finality.

“It appears that all is in order,” Yoruichi’s great-aunt and the preceding member of the council, finally spoke. The tiny old woman fixed her gaze upon Tsuzuki. “What is your name, child?”

“This one is known as Tsuzuki, Shihōin-sama.”

She inclined her head in a regal nod. “Then we welcome you to our esteemed clan as its incumbent heir, Shihōin Tsuzuki.”

Yoruichi beamed in approval as Tsuzuki threw himself into a formal ninety-degree bow. “Thank you very much, Shihōin-sama!” he gasped out, sounding oddly like his friend, that Kuchiki girl, whenever she spoke to an authority figure.

~*~*~*~

She waited until all the council members had filed out slowly, until she could no longer hear nor sense anyone near the courtyard before speaking. “Kisuke, sit down before you fall over.”

Tsuzuki gave a visible start as his gaze shot to the blond, who gave her a very resigned look. “I can’t, I won’t be able to get up again,” he replied, oddly frankly.

Yoruichi turned her gaze deliberately onto Suì-Fēng, who squeaked upon becoming the centre of attention.

Kisuke gave a half-shrug. “Her opinion of me cannot get any lower than it already is.”

Yoruichi frowned, considering the distance from the courtyard in which they were situated to the residential buildings and weighing their chances.

“Suì-Fēng, will you fetch Tessai to my rooms?”

The girl scowled at the idea of leaving her, but at a stern look from her mentor – not to mention commanding officer – she sketched a quick bow and left in a flurry of footsteps.

Finally left alone with the two males, Yoruichi heaved a deep sigh and put her hands on her hips. “All right, Tsuzuki, put a bit more pressure on your injuries, we’re going to need to walk.” She eyed Kisuke, taking stock of the stiff way that he held himself, and extended her reiatsu until it wrapped securely around the other. Kisuke visibly relaxed his stance now that she was supporting most of his weight, and he gave her a small nod.

They made it back to the clan head’s residence with no further incident – it appeared that rumours of Tsuzuki had already begun spreading, and now the looks he received were contemplative rather than disparaging. Once inside, Yoruichi disentangled her reiatsu from Kisuke, dropping him unceremoniously onto the tatami mats. The blond rolled over into a more comfortable position with a grunt, but was evidently too exhausted to protest – likely the run all the way from their training hideout and the prolonged council meeting had undid whatever recovery he had managed earlier. She had no doubt that he was already halfway to the Shihōin Manor when he had asked her to “monitor the situation”, an impressive speed given that he could barely muster enough reiatsu for a shunpo.

She turned her attention to Tsuzuki, who was similarly stretched out on the tatami mats, gingerly prodding at his ribs again. “How is Kisuke-san?” he asked upon noticing her eyes on him.

Yoruichi sighed. “Exhausted whatever reiatsu he had managed to build up earlier _again_ , I suspect.”

“Oh.” Tsuzuki’s voice was small and quiet, and guilt reflected in the gaze that he turned on the blond.

Before Yoruichi could say anything else, there was a polite knock on the door frame and the shōji slid open to reveal Tessai and Suì-Fēng.

“You sent for me, Yoruichi-dono?” Tessai asked, eyes sweeping over the two men laid out on her floor. His eyebrows furrowed together slightly at the sight of Kisuke.

“Tsuzuki, this is a close friend of mine, Tsukabishi Tessai,” she introduced. “Tessai, this is my adopted heir as of today, Shihōin Tsuzuki.”

“Hajimemashite, Shihōin-dono.” Tessai bowed formally.

“Call me Tsuzuki,” replied the youth, struggling for a moment to sit up to return the bow. “I’m sorry, I think I have some broken ribs and can’t get up at the moment.” He waved vaguely at his chest rather sheepishly, eyes fixed upon Tessai’s face.

To divert Tessai’s attention and snap the youth out of his shock at seeing the much younger Tessai, Yoruichi added, “He was in a battle with Katsuo earlier.”

At this, Tessai’s eyes flew to hers and he inclined his head slowly at the unspoken concern, well aware of Katsuo’s capabilities. Sinking fluidly onto the tatami mats in a seiza position, the man gestured to the aforementioned area. “May I?”

Tsuzuki nodded slightly, and then _sighed_ as the area was bathed in the green light of kaidō.

“Thank you, Tsukabishi-san.”

The big man inclined his head. “Tessai is fine, Tsuzuki-dono.”

“Thank you, Tessai-san,” Tsuzuki repeated, giving the other a shaky smile. He heaved himself upright experimentally, and his smile became more genuinely pleased at the lack of pain, while Tessai moved to Kisuke’s side.

“What happened?” he asked in a quiet aside, well aware of Suì-Fēng by the door.

“Reiatsu exhaustion,” she murmured back in an equally hushed tone.

His brows drew together as he began the diagnostic kaidō. After a moment, the green light disappeared. “There’s nothing physically wrong save for a few bruises,” he reported. “Reiatsu-wise, I would recommend he take at least a few days off to fully regain his strength, a week if possible.” The glasses glinted in the low light, the unspoken query clear in them.

“You know how he gets,” Yoruichi deflected partially, but relented slightly in the face of her other childhood friend. “The way he pushes himself beyond his limits when he thinks it’s necessary.” She met Tessai’s eyes, and they shared an understanding look.

Satisfied, Tessai nodded and rose, no doubt drawing his own conclusions.

“Well,” Yoruichi told them brightly, clapping her hands together. “I guess I’ll have to save the grand tour for tomorrow, then!” Her smile turned just this hint of evil as she added, “Including all these lovely training grounds that we would have _so_ much fun exploring in great _detail_!”

Hearing the implication in her words, Tsuzuki gave a heartfelt groan and flopped back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: All resultant injuries as noted by Yoruichi are real. Please do not try any of these moves at home. The author will not take responsibility for any injuries or deaths.
> 
> Tsuzuki inspired by the way the 17-year-old Ichigo sassed the hell out of everyone else at the start of the Fullbring arc.
> 
> Art for this chapter:  
> [The difference of a hundred years](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com/post/81424703816)
> 
>  **Japanese:**  
>  Shihōin Seishin（四楓院　静森）i.e. silent forest. Katsuo's father and Yoruichi's uncle, the 21st head of the clan. Judging from Yoruichi's name (first in the night / one with the night), the Shihōin seemed to like naming their children after ninja-related imagery.
> 
> Shihōin Katsuo（四楓院　勝雄）i.e. victorious man. The 27th heir of the clan, known to possess shikai but not bankai. Both Yoruichi and Suì-Fēng carry wakizashi in canon, so I assume short swords / daggers is a family thing.
> 
> Kiro（斬ろ）i.e. slice off (also means to kill someone with a blade, hence Tsuzuki’s trepidation). Keisō（勁草）refers to the type of weather-resistant herbaceous plants you find in exposed areas, has the connotation of strength and resistance.
> 
> Credits to Zephyrus Genesis for the idea of ninja as blades of grass, from which the zanpakutō was named, although it's rather drastically changed from her original idea of camouflage and stealth.


	4. Utsuri kawaru kisetsu yukidoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Utsuri kawaru kisetsu yukidoke（移り変わる季節雪解けを待ち）i.e. Changes, like the melting of seasonal snow
> 
> Otherwise known as, Yukimaru's chapter

“So, where are we going?”

Yukimaru gave Isshin a sideways glance, twitching minutely when Isshin didn’t answer. His original plan had been to wander around Rukongai until he found a district that he liked – District 78 would be nice; that Zaraki guy was from 80, and he didn’t feel like running into that madman yet. At least, not when he didn’t even have a zanpakutō. He loved a good fight as much as the next Arrancar, but he wasn’t _suicidal_. However, Isshin seemed to already have a destination in mind. Goat-Face never failed to be annoying even when he wasn’t trying, Yukimaru lamented in his mind.

“You’ll see,” Isshin replied cryptically. He wasn’t going to call the man otō-chan no matter how much he whined about them being _one big happy family now_ , and Ichigo – no, wait, it was Tsuzuki now, wasn’t it – had always backed him up whole-heartedly on this, usually with a well-aimed kick to the face.

Yukimaru closed his eyes briefly, reining in the urge to just take off on his own. Goat-Face was probably waiting for him to do precisely that, so that he could be hauled back like some disobedient child. Although, he couldn’t help but wonder if Isshin could actually catch him, if he truly decided to make a break for it. He was, after all, a student of the Goddess of Flash herself. It would probably take Suì-Fēng to at least stand a chance.

Isshin raised a sardonic eyebrow, as if guessing his intentions. Yukimaru scowled.

They had been travelling for a while now, flitting across the rooftops at a speed too high for any non-seated shinigami to detect – to say nothing of ordinary civilians. Their respective reiatsu were suppressed to such a point that even a senior officer would have trouble sensing them, so even if there had been someone with eyes capable of following their movements, they would likely be written off as a hallucination. The imposing gates separating the districts from each other posed no trouble for them, who could clear the top of the boundary wall with a single leap. They were there to stop the civilians from mass migrating and potentially causing overpopulation in the lower districts of Rukongai – a leftover relic from the first Soul King – not shinigami.

“We’re here.”

Yukimaru eyed the district number painted on the gate they had just passed. Sixty-eight. Well, at least it was reasonably dangerous. He would have preferred somewhere in the seventies, but he supposed that he could always ‘accidentally’ wander off after Isshin left. The boundary wall only marked the borders of the populated areas, but much of Rukongai was still comprised of unchartered wilderness even back in their own time. It wasn’t like the natural wildlife would be much of a threat to _him_.

A horrible thought surfaced. Isshin wasn’t taking him to a Shiba clan house, was he? He quickly shook his head. No no no, even the Shiba weren’t insane enough to build a branch property in a district so far out, where help would take hours or even days to arrive. He turned to Isshin, about to interrogate the other man, but his voice died in his throat at the look on the other man’s face.

Isshin was standing stock-still, face turned towards the horizon; he didn’t seem to be looking at anything in particular, but his eyes were ever-so-slightly glazed over and the faintest shadow of a smile was tugging at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t a happy smile. Yukimaru wished that he knew what to call it, because he’d seen it before, albeit only in King’s memories, on the rare occasions where the twins weren’t around and King chanced upon Isshin gazing at Masaki’s poster.

He turned his attention to the street. There were a couple of roadside stalls, if they could even be termed as such, with hawk-eyed shopkeepers hovering over the scant few shoppers. In a district this high up, few people had the kan to buy what they needed, so thieves were the rule rather than the exception.

Speaking of which…

“Come back here, you worthless rats!”

A trio of children raced past, an irate shopkeeper hot on their heels. Yukimaru flicked a glance at what the boy in the lead was clutching in a white-knuckled fist. Food, hmm?

From his vantage point on the roof, he could see the furtive glances the others along the street were giving the quartet, but no one moved to stop anyone. It was better not to interfere, lest you get blacklisted by either the farmers or the gangs.

The children rounded a corner and vanished from his sight, but their exit was immediately followed by a loud crash and the thuds of bodies hitting the ground. Yukimaru scrambled to the edge of the roof, where he could look down and see the children in a groaning pile on the ground. The panting shopkeeper was only a few moments behind, striding up to them before they managed to untangle themselves. Pale-faced, the boy shoved the two girls behind him, turning to face the shopkeeper defiantly.

“I’ll pay for that.”

Yukimaru blinked and leaned out further, catching the silhouette of a woman in the shadows under the awning of the roof he was perched on. Ah, so they hadn’t tripped as he had first thought – they had run into someone. Although, that is a ridiculously generous offer, why would she do that? Maybe one of the children was hers?

“It’s fine if I pay for them, isn’t it?”

The shopkeeper squinted at her, but relented with a huff. “That’ll be twenty kan.”

Ignoring the outraged protest – “His sign said _ten_ kan!” – behind her, the woman counted several coins into the shopkeeper’s hand. He frowned down at them, before pocketing the money and leaving the way he had come.

The children lingered, the boy opening his mouth as if to speak.

“It was my fault you were caught, so I’ll do it this once.”

His mouth snapped shut with a click audible even to Yukimaru. After a moment, he bowed respectfully at a ninety degree angle, pushing the younger girl’s head down until she bowed too, while the other girl followed his lead. Then they turned, and took off at a run.

“Thank you very much, Kurosaki-san!”

Wait.

 _What_.

The woman left the shade of the overhang for the brightly-lit street, and for a moment Yukimaru could only stare at the waterfall of reddish-brown curls cascading down her back as she walked away, the achingly familiar sight branding itself into his eyes.

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Yukimaru gasped, drawing in a large gulp of air. Only then did he realise his lungs were on fire, his stomach turning over as though he had eaten something bad, and for some reason he was feeling like someone had just punched him.

Human emotions were so _confusing_.

He channelled all his confusion into anger instead, because anger at least he understood. “Explain.”

Isshin sighed, dropping down to sit on the roof with a last glance in the direction his – future wife? Past wife? – had gone. “I’ve told you how your mother and I met.”

Yukimaru gave a brusque nod. “She saved you from a Hollow when you were on a mission.”

Isshin rubbed a hand over his eyes. “That… wasn’t the full truth.” He paused for a moment, and Yukimaru had to bite his own lip to prevent his impatience from interrupting.

“It wasn’t the first time I’d met her. Well,” he corrected, “technically, it was the first time that I’d met her in that life.”

Yukimaru decided, abruptly, that he needed to sit down too. He wished that Ichigo – Tsuzuki, _Tsuzuki_ , stop slipping up – urgh, _King_ was having this conversation with his father, not him.

“You knew her before she was reincarnated as our mother,” he repeated flatly.

Isshin bobbed his head, eyes still far away.

The story slipped out in bits and pieces, how Isshin had first met her while on his way back from a mission, how Masaki – true to the memory of her that Yukimaru possessed – had taken one look at his injuries and offered him a place to stay for a night. How Isshin had, after that, gone back again and again whenever he could find the chance, as though he were a moth drawn to her flame.

“I was going to ask her to take my name.”

The light in his eyes dimmed, then, and Yukimaru knew without asking him to elaborate how this story would end. The only way to be reincarnated, after all, was to die in Soul Society.

“That kid – he said _Kurosaki_ -san.” He seized upon the peculiarity before Isshin could do something worse, like start bawling on him. “What’s the chance of someone being reincarnated into the exact same family?”

Isshin blinked slowly at him, eyes soft with emotions Yukimaru couldn’t – didn’t want to – identify. “You know that Masaki was an Echte Quincy,” he prompted, receiving a nod in reply. “During the first Quincy War about a thousand years ago, shinigami scientists had observed that the offspring of two Echter Quincy usually had much greater reiatsu reserves than either of the parents. Desperate to win the war, the Echte Quincy families began practising the tradition of “pure” marriages, producing children with disproportionately large reserves of reiatsu, able to stand up to even shinigami captains.”

“And one of them is the Kurosaki family?” guessed Yukimaru.

The corner of Isshin’s mouth quirked up. “Yes,” he affirmed. “To find out why, shinigami scientists tracked the reincarnation cycles of several Quincy families, and they found something –” his mouth twisted on the word “– _interesting_. After death, a Quincy’s reiatsu is locked within the soul, such that they pass off as regular Rukongai civilians. Some may have slightly higher than average reiatsu, but generally not enough to pass the Shinigami Academy entrance examinations, and so they go unnoticed. And when two Echter Quincy have a child, the chance of this child being the reincarnation of one of their ancestors is much higher than usual. Scientists had reported seeing the same soul, over a period of several centuries, be reincarnated into the exact same family every single time.”

“So…” Yukimaru struggled to follow the logic, the idea almost too preposterous to consider.

“So in addition to the parents’ reiatsu, the child also inherits the latent reiatsu reserves from a _previous_ reincarnation.”

Yukimaru opened his mouth, and then closed it again. It was insane. And yet –

The story of how Masaki had killed White, the Hollow that had grievously wounded a shinigami captain, with a single shot. Her shooting it point-blank had nothing to do with it; the Eleventh Division could hack away at Zaraki all day and no one under Fifth Seat would be able to score a single wound on him. It took power of an equal or greater amount to actually make a spiritual being _bleed_. How Isshin had always said, if she hadn’t lost her powers, Grand Fisher would never have been able to lay a single hand on her. The image of Ishida Ryūken amidst a sea of Hollows, face utterly blank as he took down a Vasto Lorde ranked Arrancar by himself, something that none of the shinigami could lay claim to. And, of course, the Wandenreich, any of whom was a match for a shinigami captain.

“Take care of her for me, will you?”

A blink, and he found Isshin already standing, dusting himself off. Without another word, the lieutenant crouched, and then leapt off the roof, headed back the way they had come.

Yukimaru turned to face the blazing afternoon sun, the gentlest of breezes brushing against his cheek. “I will, oyaji.”

~*~*~*~

West Rukongai District 68 was a typical cluster of hamlets of the kind seen in some of King’s history textbooks about the Heian era. Though, those mostly focused on the imperial court and the aristocrats, and were thus of absolutely no help whatsoever to Yukimaru’s current situation.

It didn’t take long, lurking on rooftops, to find out that newcomers to the district invariably went two ways: they were picked up by an existing household, or they ended up in one of the gangs. Rare were the special cases – those who did neither. There was one such man – boy, really, on the cusp of manhood – a few days ago, who had declared in the middle of the market square that he was a _Fujiwara_ , and had been quickly ushered away by an officious man backed by several bodyguards. Just this morning, Yukimaru saw him leave through the gate to District 67, ensconced in a palanquin bearing the name _Konoe_ on the side.

“That kid’s an utter idiot. What would he have done if this was a district ruled by the Taira or the Minamoto instead?”

“The who?”

“Honestly,” Tsuzuki huffed a breath of laughter, flopping down on the ground and crossing his arms behind his head. “You could figure out that you’re in the Heian era, but you didn’t remember the major clans of that era?”

Yukimaru gave a half-shrug, mirroring Tsuzuki’s position. “How would I know that the aristocracy in the Transient World would translate directly into noble clans in Soul Society?”

Tsuzuki arched an eyebrow at him. “You just saw why today. Enough of those who could remember their pasts, demanding to be accorded the same luxuries as they had enjoyed in life, and you get a noble clan. Anyway, the Konoe are retainers of the Fujiwara, so they’ve probably sent him on to the Fujiwara stronghold in District 51.”

It was funny. The ground should have been cold, seeing that it was made of what appeared to be obsidian, but it wasn’t, not really – it pulsed internally with some unknown source of warmth. He gave the ground a suspicious look. Hopefully there wasn’t a volcano buried under all that.

“I don’t think our own mindscape can try to kill us.”

He scowled at the man who was supposed to be his brother now, all things considered. “One day, these words will come back and bite you on the ass.” King had, after all, nearly drowned in his own mindscape that one memorable time.

Tsuzuki flapped a hand at him. “Suit yourself. I’d be more worried about what’s out there rather than what’s in here.”

“Not like anyone can find me,” Yukimaru replied absently, propping himself up on one elbow so that he could tap the ground.

There was a pregnant pause at that. Tsuzuki turned his head slowly to face him. “Yuki, where exactly are you right now?”

“Ano,” Yukimaru scratched his head. “There’s a forest on the outskirts of the populated areas, and if you go in deep enough the trees are pretty big and comfortable…” he trailed off at the look on Tsuzuki’s face, at the emotions pulsing bright and clear next to him, exasperation and amusement and resignation all at once.

“So basically,” Tsuzuki summarised drily, “you were so anti-social that you decided to make like Tarzan.”

He protested, the litany automatically falling from his lips, even as he considered the term. No, he didn’t think _anti-social_ applied. “It’s more of – I don’t know,” he scrubbed a hand through his hair in frustration. “They aren’t trying to kill me!”

The amusement beside him bled away slowly.

“They aren’t trying to kill you, but neither are they people who had fought with you, bled with you, taken a sword through the chest for you.” Their eyes met and held for a long moment, and then Tsuzuki blew out a long breath. “Yeah, I get what you mean.”

Yukimaru sat up. “ _How_ do you cope?” he demanded. “I tried to walk down the street, but it was just so hard to hold myself back, to not react when they pass too near, to not respond as I would to a threat. How do _you_ do it?”

“I think of those early days, before the Winter War started in earnest, when I could still pretend to be a normal high school student, just one who moonlights as a Substitute Shinigami.” Tsuzuki gave a wry twitch of his lips. “It helps that few people dare to crowd the heir of the clan, and neither Yoruichi-nee-sama nor Kisuke-san registers as a threat.”

Yukimaru gave him a completely blank stare. “My first memory is of you,” he reminded, “your fingers still brushing across the Hōgyoku embedded in Aizen’s chest, his features twisted unrecognisable with rage, right before he swatted you through six walls.”

The first time he had manifested outside King’s mindscape, discombobulated and disoriented, sprawled ungainly over the rubble. The first time he took a shuddering breath and saw the world through his own eyes, felt the sharp debris cut into his skin, tasted the dust lingering in the air. The first time he could stop and _think_ , crystal clear, without the hurricane of a thousand voices in his ear, howling at him to _rip-tear-kill_. They were still present, in the background, but muted somehow – more akin to a draught than a tempest, something he could ignore with the ease of decades of practice as _White_.

The first time he met Aizen Sōsuke face-to-face, he had staggered to his feet, weak as a newborn kitten, and seen the cruel smirk tugging at the madman’s lips.

_“Kneel and be welcome, my newest Arrancar.”_

As a Hollow, survival had always been the most important thing. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed. The world was coloured a blessedly simple black-and-white. When someone stronger than you came along, you bowed to them – to survive. No doubt that was why even the self-proclaimed King of Hueco Mundo, Baraggan Louisenbairn, had swallowed his pride and knelt for Aizen.

The first time he had the ability to make his own choices, Yukimaru had reached instinctively for his zanpakutō.

Aizen had not been pleased.

It was also the first time he had died, speared through-and-through by a strike too fast to see.

No, it wasn’t a _good_ memory, but it was all he had.

“Oh.” Tsuzuki’s eyes slid shut and he grimaced. “Right. You were born in the middle of the War.”

Yukimaru snorted. “Sharing your head for four years must have messed with mine, because no self-respecting Hollow would have done that. They’d have knelt, to live another day.”

Startled brown eyes snapped open and fixed on him. “Do you… regret it?” Tsuzuki asked almost hesitantly. Yukimaru didn’t need to share his mind to know what Tsuzuki was thinking, that the other had somehow subconsciously influenced him into making that uncharacteristic choice.

“Don’t insult me,” snapped Yukimaru with feeling. “The first time my mind was my own, the first time I could think for myself, and I _chose_ to do that.” The miasma of guilt persisted, prickling uncomfortably against his skin like a particularly scratchy sweater, and he growled, rolling to his feet. “Let’s spar.”

Tsuzuki blinked up at him. “Eh?”

Yukimaru stretched languidly, feeling the pull in his muscles. “Knowing you, you’d somehow manage to make it rain in _here_ too. I’m going to beat it out of you before that happens.” He dropped to all fours, and without giving Tsuzuki the chance to even get up, swept out a leg with enough force to break a bone on impact.

Except that it never connected. The moment he had crouched down Tsuzuki had already started moving, and instead of wasting time scrambling to his feet he had gone for a backwards roll instead, pushing himself upright with his arms and leaping backwards to put more distance between them. Yukimaru grinned savagely. Yoruichi-san was going to rue the day she taught Tsuzuki – and thus by extension Yukimaru as well – how to incorporate gymnastics into his already-eclectic hakuda style. He almost felt sorry for the Shihōin Clan. Almost. They wouldn’t know what hit them – literally.

“What was that for?” complained Tsuzuki, though he didn’t relax his stance.

He could feel the grin on his face widen of its own accord, see the wariness melt off into hard resolve in Tsuzuki’s eyes in response. Good. He hadn’t had a decent fight for _weeks_ , not since they’d found out the hard way that Aizen had resurrected his entire Arrancar army _again_. With the Resistance numbering so few by then, sending anyone out would have been a suicidal move without fresh intel, and so they had remained holed up in Urahara Shōten.

Yukimaru had never intended to _hit_ Tsuzuki with that move, knowing that instincts if nothing else would have made the other dodge. “Nice to see you haven’t completely lost your edge in your dotage,” he replied breezily, and without waiting for a response _lunged_.

Tsuzuki planted his feet firmly against the ground, raising an arm to block Yukimaru’s initial punch. Sparks of black reiatsu flew where fist met forearm, and Tsuzuki’s other arm snaked out, lightning-fast, to grab Yukimaru’s outstretched arm. Instead of struggling, Yukimaru allowed himself to be pulled closer, the sudden loss of resistance buying him the split-second of surprise he needed to duck _into_ instead of away from Tsuzuki and flip him over his shoulder in a judo throw.

To his credit – though Yukimaru wouldn’t have expected any less – Tsuzuki landed in a perfect roll, slapping the ground with a reiatsu-enhanced hand to propel himself backwards. He was already on his feet as he landed, skidding backwards in a ready stance. Yukimaru smirked. Looks like he was finally going to take it seriously.

As though cued by a silent signal, they burst into shunpo at the same moment, exchanging a flurry of reiatsu-enhanced strikes, deflecting what they couldn’t evade. Karate strikes mixed with jabs at pressure points meshed together with staple street brawl punches, moves from a dozen different styles flowing fluidly into each other with the long experience only gained from a decade of fighting: first against humans, then against all manners of spiritual beings.

When the Winter War had taken a swing for the worse, Yoruichi had pulled aside the humans – easily the least experienced in the Resistance – and demanded to see their unarmed combat styles. Orihime had used a textbook karate style, the way that Tatsuki had taught her. Chad’s repertoire favoured power over subtlety, featuring a variety of boxing moves. Uryū had pulled out some Quincy style from somewhere, all the while rather peevishly muttering that it was nearly impossible to _disarm_ him and therefore all this was really rather unnecessary. His spar had ended with him on the ground, one cheek pressed to the unforgiving surface. Yoruichi seemed completely oblivious to his baleful glare, casually, _pointedly_ , twirling his Quincy Cross around one index finger.

Then it was their turn.

Yoruichi wasn’t known as a hakuda master for nothing, and thus despite being clearly caught off-guard by King’s unorthodox moves, she dodged without missing a beat. After a mere few minutes of going on the defensive, she had switched to the offensive. All of her blows, the duo had quickly found out, didn’t seem to have much force behind them, but they _hurt_. It was one of those times when Yukimaru wished that pain didn’t transmit into the mindscape whenever he decided to lend King his reiatsu.

“I target nerve clusters,” she had explained, after calling the spar to a halt. Even though it had barely been half an hour, every inch of them had ached and rattled as though she had shaken their very bones apart. To add insult to injury, the way she just seemed to _twist_ away from all their attacks – even when enhanced with a Hollow’s speed – made them suspect that she had the advantage of preternatural feline agility.

When King had called her out on it, a familiar glint in her eye that they had come to associate – painfully – with nothing good appeared. “Oy, Kisuke!”

On the far side of the underground training grounds, Urahara Kisuke turned in their direction, one hand still holding some instrument that he had been fiddling with. Grey eyes widened comically as Yoruichi was suddenly in his personal space, foot flying towards his face in a move they had seen countless times from Hiyori – except Hiyori had never moved so _fast_. It was clear that the title Goddess of Flash was well-deserved. Had she just crossed the entirety of the training grounds in a single blink?

Then King’s mouth fell open when Kisuke bent over backwards at the waist until blond hair swept the ground, his free hand shooting out to keep his bucket hat from falling off. Yukimaru would have laughed at Ichigo’s resemblance to a fish, if he himself wasn’t also busy gaping in astonishment when the shopkeeper neatly swivelled his waist to twist his upper body around the downward blow Yoruichi aimed at his chest, and then pivoted one-eighty on one foot to bring his own leg up to block her follow-up kick.

“This is fragile!” he had protested, cradling the gadget protectively to his chest without so much as a wobble, looking for all the world as though he was so used to balancing on one leg that he hardly noticed the difference.

Ignoring him with the ease of long practice, Yoruichi grinned at her captive audience, lowering her leg slowly.

“As you can see,” she had announced, the look on her face rather reminiscent of a cat with a saucer of cream, “it can be learnt.”

Kisuke blinked in bemusement, looking from her to the teenagers. “Did I miss something?”

Instead of trying to “correct” his hakuda into something more conventional, like so many other instructors would have done, Yoruichi had taken one look at Ichigo’s formless style and given him the tools to turn it into the finely-honed weapon it was today. His hand-to-hand had never been _bad_ , but usually it was a case of him giving as good as he got, and he had had many a black eye to show for that attitude.

Yoruichi showed him how she could not only hold her own, but come out on top in a world populated by giants brandishing even more gigantic swords. How the extra reach that their weapons granted them meant nothing when they couldn’t hope to hit her even at close range, a feat that only a combination of her speed and flexibility could achieve.

Speaking of which…

“I doubt either of us did our daily exercises in the past few days.”

Tsuzuki clapped a hand to his forehead, straightening. “Urgh, don’t tell her.”

At an unspoken agreement, they both turned to gaze into the endless horizon. Yukimaru bounced lightly on the ground. It would have to do – it wasn’t like either of them risked falling from doing basic exercises, anyway.

“Five hundred cartwheels, here we come,” muttered Tsuzuki cheerlessly, looking grimly resolute.

~*~*~*~

“We are never telling her about this,” warned Tsuzuki, flopping down on the ground in exhaustion after having crammed five days’ worth of exercise into one day. “She’ll triple the current exercise regimen for her own sadistic pleasure.”

“And probably halve the time limit,” Yukimaru added, agreeing wholeheartedly.

About to open his mouth to no doubt commiserate, Tsuzuki shut it with a click, brow furrowed in faint concentration. “Someone just entered my room.” Without warning, his body shimmered and vanished from their mindscape.

Yukimaru sat up straight, alarms pounding in his head. The intruder wasn’t someone whom Tsuzuki had recognised, and thus by virtue of that fact was most likely not an ally. On the upside, it wasn’t Aizen. On the downside… well, there was a lot of room for error between “Aizen” and “not a threat”.

He got to his feet and began pacing, unable to sit still anymore. King would be fine; the only shinigami who could pose a threat to him right now was probably Aizen – and the sōtaichō, he supposed, and several of the eldest captains, but what were the chances of them sneaking into Tsuzuki’s bedroom in the middle of the night? A brief vision of Unohana climbing through the window of Tsuzuki’s bedroom like Renji used to do popped into his mind, and he had to stifle a very inappropriate snicker.

The ground _trembled_.

Yukimaru’s right hand whipped instinctively to his back before he belatedly realised that, no, he didn’t have Zangetsu strapped to his back anymore. Nor could he materialise in front of Tsuzuki anymore, he supposed. His hand clenched into a fist at the thought. Having spent most of his life in the other man’s mindscape, he could recognise the signs immediately. For whatever reason, Tsuzuki had just released the tight hold he normally had over his reiatsu.

Although the ground was no longer shaking, concentric circles of disturbance continued rippling outwards from where he stood. With an effort, Yukimaru dragged his gaze off the ground. The dissonance between the stillness of the air and the movement in the ground was disorientating.

A shift in the air alerted to the sudden appearance of his zanpakutō spirit behind him.

“You wish to go to him.”

It wasn’t phrased as a question, but he replied anyway for lack of anything better to do. “Of course!”

“Why?”

Yukimaru’s head swivelled around, pinning his zanpakutō spirit with an incredulous look. Why? What kind of question was that? “He needs me!”

The figure’s serene expression didn’t change. “Does he?” Without giving Yukimaru the chance to retort, the spirit continued, “You just said it yourself. Save for Aizen, no one else is likely to pose any danger to Tsuzuki at this time of the night. And Shihōin Yoruichi is but a single room away from him. Does he really need your assistance?” Its gaze sharpened. “Or are you simply craving bloodshed, little Hollow?”

It took Yukimaru several moments to find his voice, and even longer to formulate a coherent response. “How _dare_ you,” he snarled. “I may have been a Hollow once, but that has nothing to do with –”

“Do you deny your heritage?”

“I have been many things,” snapped back Yukimaru. “I have been a Hollow, then a zanpakutō spirit, then a Hollowfied spirit, and finally an Arrancar. This doesn’t change who I am _now_.”

“Ah, yes, an _Arrancar_. Tell me, former Arrancar, what was your aspect of death?”

Yukimaru’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, momentarily thrown by the question. “Defiance.” His voice was quiet, but his chin was up, just daring the spirit to challenge him on that. He wasn’t necessarily proud of the fact – an Arrancar’s aspect of death was, after all, their main weakness and what usually got them killed – but it was a part of him, and to hell with anyone who dared to tell him that defying Aizen had been the wrong, the _stupid_ move.

Did they think he didn’t already know all that?

If he’d knelt for Aizen that day, the War would have been over long ago. The newly-born Arrancar had access to all of King’s memories – starting with the locations of and the passwords to every single Resistance stronghold. He had no doubt Aizen would have been able to imprison King within his own mindscape, leaving him in charge of the physical body. It would have been horribly easy to pass off as the human teenager – moody and sullen wasn’t hard to pull off – and to shred the wards protecting Urahara Shōten when Aizen came knocking. The wards had been designed to withstand traitors from the inside, of course, Urahara Kisuke was nothing if not thorough, but King had helped to erect the wards in the first place with his massive reiatsu reserves, and was thus keyed into the foundations.

He could have been on the winning side of the War.

“And yet, knowing all of that, you challenged Aizen anyway.” Eyes the hue of sunset pierced through him. “Drunk on your newfound freedom, engorged with your own self-importance, did you do it for the _novelty_ of making a choice –”

Yukimaru’s growl was very nearly subsonic, and the ground _shivered_ with his rising reiatsu. “I would have thought my own zanpakutō spirit would have known me better than that.” He couldn’t quite hide the disappointment dripping from his words, though his tone remained acerbic. “I did it because it was the _right thing to do_!” Unbidden, an image of Karin and Yuzu on their first day of middle school floated to mind. It had been before the War had started in earnest, and their big brother had specially taken the time to see them off at the school gates. It was possibly the last time he had seen King smile. “There are some things in this world worth fighting for, worth _dying for_.”

He sucked in a deep breath. “Yes, I like fighting,” he was mature enough to admit that, “but I’m not a Hollow anymore. I don’t fight for the sake of causing mindless destruction. If you can’t accept a former-Hollow for a wielder, then fine – I don’t need you!” Better a soulless sword than a zanpakutō that didn’t trust its owner, or worse, actively undermined its owner. A single Quincy-Zangetsu was enough for one lifetime.

His zanpakutō spirit inclined its head regally, and for a moment the perpetual flames cloaking it grew too bright for him to keep his eyes on the enshrouded figure within.

“We will speak again.”

When he looked up again, Yukimaru found himself standing alone once more. He blinked rapidly in bewilderment. What had all that been about?

~*~*~*~

It being only mid-February, Rukongai was still caught in the throes of winter. Sitting on a convenient fallen log, Yukimaru examined his only change of clothing critically. There was no helping it, he decided. He would have to venture back to town.

At least he didn’t smell. The nearby stream, after he had successfully cracked the ice, made for a decent bath, a steady source of water, and some fish. He was even getting better at creating campfires with judicious applications of fire kidō on hapless twigs.

However, that begged the question – what could he use to trade for a new set of clothes? He owned literally nothing but the clothes on his back, and they weren’t in the best condition after so many repeated washes.

Perhaps he would have more luck if he scouted out the town beforehand. Surely he could find something that he could do.

Yukimaru hopped off the log, pulled his clothes back on, and started the long trek back to civilisation.

~*~*~*~

He was a genius, he decided, peering out at the town from the relative safety atop a tree.

 _Firewood_.

Each of the hamlets had a small bundle of firewood stacked neatly against one of the walls, visible through the window. He crept closer, peeking into each of the windows, trying to see if he could find which one his mother lived in.

He didn’t have much luck, unfortunately, and it was already getting dark. He could probably spend the night gathering as much fallen branches as possible, and head back during daylight hours. Thus decided, he turned and was about to head back to the treeline, when a quiet scuffle caught his attention. Making a split-second decision, Yukimaru crouched and easily leapt onto the roof of the nearest hamlet, using the roofs as a shortcut to reach the source of the sound faster.

“Don’t make me hurt you, _woman_.”

His ears pricked and he scrambled sideways, slinking closer to the edge of the roof for a better view.

“You can’t,” a familiar voice replied coolly, and his heart did some sort of jittery flutter. His mother had a bag tucked under her arm, a burly man blocking her path. From the symbol sewn onto his clothes, he was probably a member of a gang. He didn’t look too happy at the implied insult to his abilities. His mother frowned, ducking the clumsy punches thrown her way, but did not retaliate. Frustrated at his inability to hit her, the gang member charged. Without pausing, she shifted her position and stuck out a leg. He flailed as he tripped, hitting his head on the ground and letting out a yell of pain.

That seemed to be the signal the rest of the gang was waiting for, as several more menacing figures sauntered out into the deserted street. The biggest one, obviously the gang leader from his demeanour, sneered and stepped forward while the rest fanned out to surround his mother.

He had seen enough.

Yukimaru hopped off the roof into a side alley and came barrelling out before the gang leader could even open his mouth. “Hey!” he yelled. “What kind of cowards are you to gang up on a lady?”

For a moment the gang members stood, stunned at the direct challenge. From the corner of his eye, he could see his mother pursing her lips worriedly, but did not warn him to stay away, trusting the newcomer to know what he was doing. Yukimaru appreciated it. A district so high up, a person did not stay alive by interfering in fights they could not win, and she clearly knew that she was outnumbered.

Slowly, the gang leader turned to face him. At a slight gesture, the nearest two attacked. Yukimaru jumped over the first punch, using his momentum to kick the first one in the face and immediately ducking to avoid the second one from sneaking up on him. He effortlessly dispatched his other opponent, returning the gang leader’s shrewd look with his own emotionless stare.

“Get her.”

White-hot fury seared through him.

 _He_ was their opponent. Not her. Never her.

He blurred in front of the nearest gang member, sending the man flying several metres away. The remaining thugs hesitated, but at a rallying cry from their leader, charged en masse at his mother.

Unacceptable.

Eliminate.

“Stop!”

For a moment, he could only stare blankly at the woman blocking his way, his palm quivering scant centimetres away from her throat. He had barely pulled the blow in time, his reflexes screaming at him.

_Not a threat._

Yukimaru blinked dazedly, withdrawing his hand slowly. Only then did he register the bodies littering the street, hear the occasional pained groan. _Finish the job_ , his instincts were telling him. _Eliminate the threats before they hurt someone you care about_. “Why did you stop me?”

His mother was watching him, wariness warring with worry in her eyes. Up close, he could see that King had indeed inherited his mother’s eyes. “You were going to kill them.”

“They were going to kill you,” countered Yukimaru, confused. If someone punched you, you punch them back, and make sure they can’t get back up to punch your friends when you weren’t around. Wasn’t that how things worked?

She shook her head, brown curls bouncing in the moonlight. “They were only after the food. My life was never in danger.” _Before you intervened_ went unsaid.

“But they wanted to hurt you!” He couldn’t understand it. “Why did you protect them?”

“Because if somebody died because I did nothing, I don't think I'd be able to forgive myself for that.” Her voice was soft, but resolute.

Yukimaru scratched at his head, casting a dubious look in her direction. Well, if she insisted. He gave the gangsters one last glance, dismissing them almost immediately. None of them would be getting up any time soon. Now, what had he been about to do?

Oh, yes, firewood.

He had barely taken five steps towards the treeline in the far distance when her voice stopped him again.

“Where are you going?”

Half-turning, Yukimaru jerked a thumb in the vague direction where he had spent the last fortnight. “I need to get back before it gets too dark to find my way.” He could probably find a new place to sleep, since he hadn’t left anything behind, but he _liked_ where he’d stayed. It would be annoying to find another stream.

Even in the gloom, he could see her begin to frown. “I didn’t know people lived in the forest.”

He turned his attention to the trees in surprise. There were others living in the forest besides him? “I didn’t know there were others,” his reply was phrased in a questioning tone. “At least, I haven’t seen anyone else in the last two weeks.”

There was a pregnant pause, and then – “Are you telling me that you spent two weeks of winter alone in the forest? Wearing _that_?”

“Yes,” he replied slowly. “I’m only in town today because I needed a new set of clothes –” he gestured to the worn and faded garments he was wearing “– and I came to see what other people needed, something that I could use to trade with.”

His mother looked as if she was trying to stop herself from saying something, although Yukimaru couldn’t fully understand the expression on her face. He’d have to ask Tsuzuki to parse it later. “Is something wrong?”

“I have a spare room,” she declared apropos of nothing. “And I can make you a new set of clothes. In return, I need you to do some manual labour around the house.”

Yukimaru opened his mouth, and then closed it again. This could all be an elaborate trap – but then, given what he knew of his mother, this generosity seemed to be par for the course for her. “I could gather firewood,” he offered cautiously. “And I’m pretty good with heavy lifting.”

Her eyes cut to the gangsters, some of whom had regained consciousness, and who were trying to slink away unobtrusively. “I’ve noticed.” Turning her back on them, she started down a different path leading to a cluster of hamlets near the rice fields. “I live this way.”

Humans, Yukimaru decided as he trotted obediently behind her, were _weird_.

~*~*~*~

Kurosaki Kiyoko, or Kiyoko-san as she had insisted he call her, was a weaver. She owned a modest plot of land in the fields, where she grew the fibres that she needed. It being winter, the fields didn’t need tilling, though she had made it clear that come spring this would no longer be the case.

Yukimaru didn’t mind. In addition to chopping firewood, he helped out with the general repairs of the hamlet. It helped that he didn’t have trouble keeping his footing on the snow-covered roofs – what were slippery roofs compared to fighting for your life, knee-deep in rubble? – although he did have to use a ladder to keep up appearances after the first time he scaled up the wall and nearly gave Kiyoko a heart attack.

Seeing this, she began sending him to the other villagers when their homes needed repairs, and before he knew it, he had somehow turned into the village handyman. Tsuzuki had been very amused.

‘ _I wish there was more to eat, though,_ ’ Yukimaru griped, laying out his futon beside the open window. ‘ _Did you know that souls in Rukongai only need to eat once every few days?_ ’

There was a thoughtful pause on the other end – or it could be that Tsuzuki had accidentally slipped out of Jinzen again, they were still ironing out the kinks of trying to communicate without actually entering their mindscape – ‘ _Now I do,_ ’ his brother finally replied. ‘ _How are you coping?_ ’

‘ _Kiyoko-san looked weird when she realised that I was still regularly going into the forest._ ’

It had been an interesting conversation, to say the least. He had lost track of time one day, and night had crept up on him before he realised how late it was. He flitted into as fast a shunpo as he dared with such limited visibility – Tsuzuki would no doubt laugh himself sick if he ran into a tree – and made it to town in record time.

“Where were you?” Kiyoko-san had asked the moment he set foot through the door.

Yukimaru glanced up sharply, momentarily stunned by her vehemence. He hesitated a moment, but the compulsion to be honest with his mother was too strong – damn Ichigo’s morals – and he finally told her an abbreviated version of the truth. “I was looking for alternative sources of food in the forest.” Mother or not, he wasn’t about to tell her that he needed at least one meal a day to survive. Everyone in Rukongai knew what it meant when someone was hungry.

‘ _It’s not that I don’t trust her,_ ’ he found himself explaining, _needing_ someone to understand. ‘ _If I told her, I know she’ll insist on feeding me._ ’ In a town this small, the additional groceries she would need to buy wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

‘ _And neither of you need the kind of attention this would bring,_ ’ finished Tsuzuki quietly. ‘ _The Konoe will only respond in two ways – either they’ll demand you join their guard retinue, or they’ll kill you._ ’

His mother had eyed him contemplatively. “Come back before dark,” was all she said in the end. “It’s not safe out there at night.”

Yukimaru silently resolved to remember to bring his axe every time he entered the forest in the future, to make it look as if he was gathering firewood instead.

He could almost hear Tsuzuki nod thoughtfully. ‘ _She’s worried about you,_ ’ his brother explained.

‘ _Worried?_ ’ Yukimaru couldn’t understand why. Wasn’t it already clear that he could handle himself?

‘ _It’s an irrational emotion humans feel when someone whom they care about does something that they consider dangerous._ ’

Yukimaru snorted. ‘ _You totally repeated that verbatim from Urahara-san._ ’

Instead of protesting as he’d expected, Tsuzuki sent back the mental equivalent of a shrug. ‘ _He’s far more eloquent than I am. I would have said something like, it’s what people do when they like you. His version is a lot more helpful, and explains why none of us is worried about you spending weeks in the forest. What’s the worst thing you can stumble into, a nest of Hollows?_ ’

‘ _I wonder if Hollows taste good barbequed?_ ’ mused Yukimaru. In response to Tsuzuki’s slightly horrified silence, he retorted, ‘ _What?_ _I’m really sick of fish!_ ’

‘ _I – I’ll think of something,_ ’ promised his brother. ‘ _Let’s leave that as a last resort, shall we?_ ’

~*~*~*~

Winter melted slowly into spring, and gradually the days began to grow longer. When all the snow was finally gone, Kiyoko began showing him how to work the fields.

Yukimaru didn’t mind the manual labour, because at least it was something to _do_. Not that he begrudged Tsuzuki his job; rather, had it been him he would probably have tried to murder half the clan within the week. King had far more patience and empathy than he did – seriously, he didn’t even maim those idiotic brats that had burst into his room the other day, interrupting their conversation. People who waited until their target was asleep – or so they thought – to act couldn’t have been up to any good. If it were up to him, he’d have given them a lot worse than a mere slap on the wrist, like maybe a little bit of maiming. If Suì-Fēng could fight with one arm, he was sure they could learn to do the same.

Well, King had been so startled by the intrusion that he had accidentally flared his reiatsu, and _that_ had woken up Yoruichi. Those brats had probably gotten what they deserved, he supposed. That cat was _vicious_ if her naptime was interrupted. Though, it was equally probable that she ended up punishing Tsuzuki, since it was his fault that she had awoken at all.

He snickered to himself, ignoring all the odd looks shot his way. Man, he was so glad he wasn’t entangled in that mess.

~*~*~*~

A roar shook the forest.

Yukimaru nearly dropped the bundle in his arms, turning to gape at the treeline. Nearby, other farmers straightened up slowly from their own crops, and he could see a few pick up whatever blunt instrument they had at hand. The fields were located on the outskirts of town, and judging by the increasing sounds of crashing they could all hear, there wasn’t enough time to escape.

Not that some of them didn’t try, tearing down the dirt road back to town. Yukimaru shook his head. Stupid – it wasn’t like there was some kind of magical barrier protecting the town; whatever it was that the hunting party had enraged wouldn’t be stopped by flimsy wooden constructs. All they would be doing was effectively inciting a panic.

He’d seen the hunting party go in earlier that day, a pack of dogs snapping at their heels, and had been looking forwards to what they could bring back. Vegetables were good and all, but he was seriously craving some _meat_ here, one of the disadvantages of growing up with an abundance of food in the late twentieth century. Meat had always been in plentiful supply back in the future.

“Looks like we won’t be getting deer tonight,” he sighed woefully.

A nearby farmer snorted, hefting his pitchfork. “We should probably worry about not becoming bear food first.”

“A bear.”

The farmer squinted at him. “Yeah, big brown furry animal with claws?”

“I know what a bear is,” Yukimaru snapped back.

To his surprise, the farmer gave him a nod of apology. “My apologies.”

“For what?” he had to ask. Usually when he snapped at people, they yelled back at him, not apologised to him. And especially not one so senior to him, as this man clearly was.

“Well, someone as young as you usually only knows what a bear looks like because you died from being attacked by one.”

Yukimaru paused. How _did_ he know what a bear looked like?

The answer came easily, of course – Ichigo had once seen one in a zoo.

Ah, that explained a lot. Did they even have zoos in this time period?

Even saying that he had seen a picture from a book would be suspect. Apparently, most of the inhabitants – most of Rukongai in fact – were illiterate. Yukimaru was really thankful that Tsuzuki had imparted that piece of vital information before he accidentally outed himself with the fact that he could both read and write. Picture books were rare and expensive, only found in noble households. To say that he had read one would been tantamount to admitting he was a noble-born child. And wouldn’t the Konoe have a field day with _that_ titbit?

Man, he really missed the future.

Another roar thundered through the forest, and this time he could pick up the howling of dogs and the snapping of tree branches, even without channelling reiatsu to his ears to enhance his hearing. They must be close then. Yukimaru hefted his own hoe, testing the weight of it in his hand. It was such a pity he no longer had a zanpakutō strapped to his back – not that he needed one, necessarily, but displaying advanced hakuda skills was just begging for a trip to the Konoe’s prisoner cells.

He really, really didn’t want to live as a criminal on the run for the next century. Or worse, have to call upon the Shihōin to bail him out, and ruin all their careful planning.

So that meant… no advanced hakuda, no hōhō, no kidō, and no obvious zanjutsu – at least he didn’t have to worry about this last one, Ichigo had never been taught zanjutsu to start with. There just hadn’t been enough time during the War to instruct him in the proper stances that would normally take years to perfect. Yukimaru twirled the hoe in one hand, feeling the familiar maniacal grin tug at his lips. He did so love a challenge.

A flash of brown, barely visible through the thicket of trees, was all the warning he got before a blur burst out from the treeline, a wasteland of snapped branches trailing in its wake. Almost immediately, his hands shifted their grip on the handle before he consciously unclenched one hand. This wasn’t a katana. He didn’t need two hands to wield it. His left foot slid back a fraction, bracing the majority of his weight against the ground.

‘ _Ne, King, any idea where the weaknesses are on a bear?_ ’

Probably the eyes, if he could reach those. Few things – be they animals, humans, shinigami or Hollows – could handle the loss of an eye. He wondered if he could manage to take a paw off – no, too risky, he had to make it look like he’d gotten lucky.

Someone broke under the stress, screaming and charging at the bear. Small beady eyes zeroed in on the approaching threat, the bear changing directions to meet it head-on. Even he had to wince at the resultant wet squelch of shredded flesh and the screech of claws along bone. Civilians were so _fragile_.

‘ _Do I want to know?_ ’ Tsuzuki’s reply was part-exasperated, part-apprehensive.

‘ _I’m going to kill one._ ’ Yukimaru cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at the rampaging bear. It was _pissed_. He supposed that he couldn’t really blame it – if some idiot intruded on his territory, he’d probably have reacted the same way.

Scratch that, this bear _was_ intruding on his territory.

Tsuzuki had yet to reply, so it was going to have to be the eyes then. He doubted that this hoe, with its flimsy quality, could reach the less exposed parts anyway.

‘ _Congratulations. You just managed to render Kisuke-san speechless for a record ten seconds._ ’

The snicker that Yukimaru involuntarily let escape was probably terrifying the other civilians, but what did he care about that? ‘ _And what did he say?_ ’

There was a slight pause, and then Kisuke’s voice came smoothly over their mental connection. ‘ _Setting aside the question of why you are facing a bear as of this moment, the eyes and the mouth when open are vulnerable parts._ ’

Yukimaru cocked his head. There was no way even Urahara Kisuke could find his reiatsu ribbon almost seventy districts into the Rukongai, which meant he had been piggybacking on King’s connection to him. Huh. He didn’t even know that was _possible_. Wasn’t reiatsu unique to each person or something like that?

He shook his head, grip tightening on his makeshift weapon, eyes tracking the movements of the bear. Eyes and mouth. He could reach that. ‘ _Ittekimasu._ ’

‘ _Itterasshai,_ ’ Tsuzuki replied automatically, before squawking at him. ‘ _What? Where’re you going?_ ’

Yukimaru ignored him in favour of bending his knees slightly. The bear was currently on a trajectory that would take it within lunging distance to him. He breathed in and out, slowly, focus narrowing down to the threat.

_Incoming!_

He dropped automatically and rolled out of the way, just as a pair of panicked oxen trampled through where he had been standing a moment ago. Yukimaru came up, cursing, foot slipping on the freshly tilled soil. Too late, he realised that his instinctive manoeuvre had brought him almost directly into the path of the bear, and he gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the impact.

Squinty angry eyes locked on his figure, the bear giving a low enraged growl as it spotted him.

“Come and get me,” Yukimaru whispered, twirling the hoe absently in both hands until they found a grip that they liked.

His brain stuttered out an alert, forcing him to side-step again just as a body crashed heavily into the ground next to him. The farmer from earlier, he vaguely recognised. Not a threat, analysed the small part of his brain not devoted to tracking the weak points on the bear. Protect.

Yukimaru crouched slightly, and then _sprang_.

His aim was true, and the hoe smashed into the bear’s face, carving a bloody slash from brow to cheek. The bear howled in agony and fury, giant paws coming up to claw at the air, half-blinded by the blood streaming freely from one ruined eye. Yukimaru cursed again, abandoning the hoe and leaping backwards before they could make contact. With a final scream, the bear tore the hoe from its face, flinging it away. Keeping the enraged bear in his peripheral vision, he glanced wildly around for a substitute makeshift weapon. Barehanded combat was far too dangerous in this situation – slipping up and accidentally revealing his skills was not an option here.

There!

It took two long strides to reach the abandoned trowel, snatch it up, and swivel back around to face the bear. Yukimaru hefted it in one hand, considering. Not very sharp; he’d either have to use more force, or aim for blunt trauma. He spun it in one hand, absently tossing it up and catching it on the way down, watching the way the bear dropped to all fours, its maw gaping open.

Wait a minute…

Yukimaru frowned considering. Yes, this could work. The trowel thudded back into his palm, and he curled his fingers over the handle, waiting. One foot pulled back, taking the majority of his weight, while his free arm came up, hand pointed straight at the bear.

The next time the bear opened its mouth to roar, Yukimaru stepped forwards, transferred all his weight to the foot in front and _flung_ the trowel into its mouth like a javelin. At point-blank range with the jaws open wide, it was nearly impossible to miss, even with the trowel not being perfectly balanced for throwing. It slammed into the back of the bear’s throat, causing the beast to rear back onto its hind legs for a moment, growl gurgling in its throat. With any luck, it would have caused some internal damage. He might have added a touch of reiatsu to that throw. Possibly. He actually had no idea whether or not his instincts had overridden his conscious mind in this case.

Circling cautiously around the screaming and flailing animal, he made a beeline for his abandoned hoe, spinning around with it in hand to meet the bear face-on. Yukimaru growled, nearly subsonic, and although it was much softer than the bear’s own outraged yowls it was clear that his opponent had heard him by the way it reared back again, choking out a snarl in response to his challenge.

_You won’t hurt anyone ever again._

He sprinted forwards, ducking around a paw, using his momentum to bury the hoe into the bear’s skull. The metal bit deep, the shock running up his arms, and he had to fight the urge to channel reiatsu through the shaft. There was a dull ‘crack’, barely audible over the dying snarls of the beast, and he could _feel_ something – likely the skull – give way. Yukimaru gritted his teeth, forcing the metal blade of the hoe even deeper into the bear’s brain.

 _Come on_ , he screamed mentally. _Just die already!_

The bear didn’t seem inclined to obey, and he finally had to dive out of the way when the wild flailing became too much to bear. He shook out his numb arms, eyes fixed on the animal thrashing a safe distance away. It was dying, he was sure of it, just very slowly. His hands twitched with the effort of keeping them still, of not putting it out of its misery, but any more and he would run the very real risk of blowing his entire cover. In fact, he wasn’t sure if what he had done hadn’t already blown his cover.

He’d worry about that later.

The bear seemed to take an age to die, though realistically speaking it was probably only a few minutes. Yukimaru stood guard solemnly, watching the light fade out of the bear’s remaining eye, as its thrashing and struggling slowed, and finally stopped.

The ground was splattered with bloodstains as though it was a scene right out of the Menos Forest. It wasn’t his first kill, not by a long shot, but it was the first time in a long while that he had killed something that wasn’t deliberately trying to kill him back. Not since he had become embedded in Masaki and later on Ichigo, in fact. And as an Arrancar, his kills were quick. Clean. They were never this messy.

_I am no longer a Hollow._

His hand balled into a fist, knuckles whitening.

Then the cheers started.

Yukimaru startled, for the first time noticing the gathered crowd. He scratched the back of his head slowly.

‘ _Er, oops?_ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear attack very loosely based on the "Sankebetsu brown bear incident". Google it if you want details, but be warned for descriptions of gore. They didn't have a Yukimaru to fend the bear off.
> 
> One of the things I sought to highlight in this rewrite was the contrast between Yukimaru and Tsuzuki; how two people with the exact same set of memories can develop distinct personalities nonetheless.
> 
> Yukimaru is based off younger Tensa Zangetsu; whose ultimate goal, if you remember, was to _protect Ichigo_. His meta is far too long to be contained in the notes section, but if you're interested, I'll be happy to discuss it with you. Or possibly post it on Tumblr.
> 
> Next update will be after mid-Feb, but hopefully not too long after. I try to regularly post sneak peeks of future updates on my [Tumblr](http://starriewolf.tumblr.com) if you can't wait so long between chapters.


	5. Inochi no Hajimari

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inochi no hajimari（命の始まり）i.e. The beginning of a new life

Sliding the door open, he was greeted by a blast of hot air. Thank the gods for an engineering genius, Tsuzuki thought to himself as he squinted to see past the thick steam that hung in the air, shutting the door behind him to keep the heat in. Which other clan could boast a private onsen for the clan head’s sole usage? The original hot spring was located in the main Shihōin onsen, but a stream had been diverted off to the clan head’s wing to create a separate private bath, sunken into the ground in a stone pool.

Making his way to the bath, Tsuzuki sank into the hot water, letting out a soft sigh. Yeah, he could totally understand Yoruichi and Kisuke’s obsession with hot springs now. Even if it wasn’t enhanced like the rest of the blond’s creations, the hot water alone was soothing on his aching muscles after a whole day of training. The Shihōin were probably listed somewhere in the dictionary under the word ‘sadistic’.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Gah!” he shrieked, flailing ungainly and smashing his elbow painfully against the edge of the bath. “ _Itai_!” He rubbed at the spot, glaring at Yoruichi – how did he even miss her presence in the first place, he would never understand. Her reiatsu flexed and uncoiled over the ripples he had created, like a lazy cat making itself comfortable in a sunny spot, the closest he had ever seen her to being relaxed.

He bit down _hard_ on the instinctive _what are you doing here_ that almost slipped out – there was no need to lower her opinion of his intelligence any further. She smirked at him anyway, a Cheshire grin that suggested she knew exactly what he had been about to say.

“That’s not very nice, Yoruichi-san.”

“ _Kisuke-san_!” It _wasn’t_ a shriek, no matter what anyone said. Head snapping to the right so fast that he almost gave himself whiplash, Tsuzuki peered through the steam just in time to see the former shopkeeper break the surface opposite to Yoruichi, wet blond hair plastered to his face. Tsuzuki opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Am I… uh, interrupting something?”

“Yes,” Kisuke replied at the same time Yoruichi asked, “What did you think we were doing in here?”

A beat, just enough time for Tsuzuki to process those words and his face heat up from far more than the steam in the air, and then –

“You’re welcome to join us, of course.”

He might just be the first shinigami to figure out how to spontaneously combust. “I, uh, I’m flattered, but –” he managed to choke out, before Yoruichi’s full-bellied laugh drowned off the rest of whatever he was about to say.

“ _Look at him_ , he looks like a ripe tomato!”

“Try not to traumatise him permanently, will you? We still need him.”

“You’re no fun, Kisuke.”

“She’s right, though. We won’t mind you joining us.”

Tsuzuki spluttered, deciding that retreat was the better part of valour. “Okay, I’m going now, have a good time you two!” He stood up, and was preparing to high-tail out of the door – dignity be damned – when he was interrupted.

“You’re just too easy to tease, Tsuki­- _chan­_ ,” chortled Yoruichi. “Sit down.”

He sat, cautiously, wary of what she wanted. They were just messing with him, right? They didn’t actually want him to join in in a… he couldn’t even say the word in his own head without turning red.

“You want to finish what you were doing earlier before we were interrupted, Kisuke?”

His resolve was crumbling with every moment. If the blond dove underwater again or moved any closer to her, he finally decided, he was going to bolt. A lifetime of teasing was a small price to pay for not being mentally scarred for life.

Kisuke did none of those things. What he _did_ do was sprawl out over his side of the bath, head tipped back until it rested against the ground – his reiatsu curling through the mist, and really, _how_ did Tsuzuki miss _both_ their presences when he first came in? – and drape his folded towel over his forehead. “So, as I was saying, I tailed the messenger back to their base of operations in North District 53, an abandoned manor deep in the woods. There were guard rotations three times a day, squads of four each, dressed in standard black market issue short swords and chain armour.”

“In other words,” Yoruichi concluded dryly, “Highly suspicious for a simple shinigami outpost with nothing to hide.” She stretched languidly, absently running her fingers through her short hair and frowning when they met air. “Tell me something I don’t already know, Kisuke.”

The blond didn’t bother raising his head to look at her. “And what makes you think I have information that the regular Onmitsukidō scouts can’t give you, Yoruichi-san?”

Yoruichi rolled her eyes. “If I wanted something the regular Onmitsukidō could get, I wouldn’t have bothered sending _you_.”

It took longer than Tsuzuki would admit to for him to realise what was going on. “Wait.” He sat up with a splash. “You’re giving a _mission report_? In the bath?”

The former shopkeeper cracked an eye open and fixed him with a very unimpressed look.

“But why in the onsen of all places?” He paused. “And wait, aren’t you the Detention Unit commander? Why were you sent on a mission?” He should know, he had just finished sitting through a lecture about the five Onmitsukidō branches that week.

It all seemed so simple on paper. The Executive Militia, led by Fourth Seat Shihōin Katsuo, was in charge of missions that required active combat. The Patrol Corps, led by Lieutenant Ōmaeda Marenoshin, was in charge of internal security. The Detention Unit, led by Third Seat Urahara Kisuke, was in charge of all the prisons in Seireitei, including the infamous Maggots Nest. The Inner Court Troops, led by Captain Shihōin Yoruichi herself, comprised the intra-Seireitei messengers responsible for classified information. And the Covert Corps, led by Yoruichi’s younger brother Fifth Seat Shihōin Yūshirō, was the intelligence division of the Onmitsukidō.

“Well,” Yoruichi drawled, dragging out the word. “It takes a special kind of pervert to install surveillance devices in a woman’s private bath.”

“Plus water naturally absorbs sound.” Kisuke flapped his hand at the thick clouds of steam hanging in the air. “This room is effectively soundproof.” His arm flopped limply down, creating a small splash when it hit the water.

Tsuzuki narrowed his eyes, and took another good look at the room, at the way their reiatsu was roiling thick and low in the mist – and it was like a lightbulb went off in his head. “You’re not releasing your reiatsu because you’re relaxed,” he stated with surety. “You’re sweeping the room for bugs and cloaking it further to avoid external detection.”

Yoruichi’s tiny smirk of approval warmed something in his heart. “Good job.”

“Why not just use a silencing ward?” He glanced between Yoruichi and Kisuke. The former tilted her head at the blond, and even though he hadn’t even opened his eyes the latter took over as smoothly as if he had actually seen the cue.

“Kidō is easy to spot if you know the signs, and announce to the whole world that you’ve something to hide. And before you ask, yes, I could make an undetectable silencing kidō layered in illusions, but why waste my energy – repeatedly, since we’d have to take it down every time we’re done – when a few well-pointed rumours can achieve even better results?”

He was going to regret asking, he knew it. “Rumours?”

Yoruichi quirked an eyebrow at him. “You _are_ aware that the entire clan – probably half the Gotei too, knowing the gossip mill – thinks that Kisuke is sleeping with me right?”

“You mean he’s not?” Tsuzuki retorted without thinking, and then clapped a hand over his mouth the moment the words left his mouth.

Yoruichi blinked at him.

Tsuzuki blinked back.

Kisuke snored, very loudly and very pretentiously.

Yoruichi’s face twitched, and for a moment Tsuzuki thought she was going to start laughing again. “For a given meaning of ‘sleep’, I suppose.”

“So… you _started_ that rumour?”

“It’s not hard.” Kisuke shrugged, rolling over to face Tsuzuki. “Make sure to get caught by a servant while leaving her bedroom in the morning a few times, be seen entering the onsen while she’s known to be inside, and before long the whole clan thinks they know what’s going on. It gives me a much greater degree of… freedom, than I would have had otherwise. Do you want my report or not?” That last sentence was clearly not directed towards him.

Yoruichi pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not going to like it, am I?” she asked in a tone of resignation.

Kisuke was quiet for a moment. “You’re right, it’s something you need a Corps Commander to handle,” he finally said. “They’re being paid to smuggle people across the districts.”

Tsuzuki had the rare pleasure of hearing Yoruichi swear. “How did we miss _that_ the last time?” she asked rhetorically, holding up a hand to forestall any answers. “Never mind. Up or down the districts? And by ‘people’, I’m going to assume you meant ‘yakuza’. What’s their motive?”

“Both ways. And it’s not just the yakuza, there’s at least one minor noble clan that is known to utilise their services. Motivation… depends on the group. The yakuza appear to be in search of more fertile hunting grounds, whereas the clan that we know of was conducting a transfer for someone originally assigned to a different district.” The blond sighed, very softly. “And to think, we wouldn’t even know about this smuggling ring if it wasn’t for an anonymous tip from a trusted source.”

“Wait,” Tsuzuki burst in, finally realising why that description sounded so familiar. “You mean _Yukimaru_?”

Kisuke didn’t bother looking at him. “Like I said, a trusted source.”

“But he – but we didn’t know –” he struggled for a moment to put everything in words, eventually settling on the most important question. “Why is movement between districts restricted, anyway?”

“Originally, they were to ensure an even distribution of residents amongst the 320 districts in Rukongai to prevent overcrowding,” began Yoruichi, and then she sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Nowadays… you’ve seen the disparity between districts.” It wasn’t a question, but Tsuzuki nodded anyway. “Can you imagine what would happen if the restrictions weren’t there?”

“Everyone would be migrating to the first few districts?” he hazarded a guess.

“Worse,” corrected Kisuke tiredly. “They would _kill_ for a place in the top ten districts, if not for themselves, then for their loved ones. There would be riots in the streets.”

The frightening thing was, he could see that happening. People trampling over each other, the streets painted red with rivers of blood. But that raised a very important question. “Then, how did prospective students get through?” He remembered Renji once saying that he and Rukia were from the seventies, and wasn’t Zaraki from District 80?

Yoruichi shook her head slowly, sending water droplets flying everywhere. “The walls aren’t perfect, they actually only fully extend up to District 20 or so. Past that, the walls only border the populated areas. And the doors were constructed to respond to spikes in reiatsu, based on the faulty premise that only a trained shinigami has enough reiatsu to open them. It’s a leftover relic from the old days, an emergency measure for the times when a shinigami patrol being chased by Hollows didn’t have the time to scan their pass, or if the person carrying the pass died. Of course, nowadays most patrols use jigoku-chō instead of handheld passes, but there have been records of Hollows eating the Hell Butterflies.”

She pondered for a while. “This definitely bears further investigation. Kisuke, give me your best estimate as to the extent of their influence?”

The former shopkeeper hummed noncommittally. “They’ve got messengers coming from half the major yakuza gangs from districts forty and up, and probably more whose sigils I couldn’t recognise on sight. And this is just based on my observations in a single week.”

“And many of these gangs are, of course, funded by the Lesser Houses,” Yoruichi added with a sigh. “Of all the times for Katsuo-san to be out on an extended mission – he won’t be back for another two, maybe three months. Ōmaeda-fukutaichō, well.” She shrugged helplessly.

“He’s not exactly the most discreet of individuals,” finished Kisuke diplomatically. “But may I ask why are you already planning a strike team, Yoruichi-san? I would have thought you’d want to watch them for a while to determine all their sponsors first.”

“Because I just got word from Yūshirō that the surveillance team in that section has missed three consecutive check-ins, so he’s leading a team there himself.”

“And you didn’t stop him?” The blond jerked upright with a splash, the hand towel dropping into the water, but both of them ignored the discourtesy such an act normally implied.

“By the time I received the message this morning, he’d already left!” Yoruichi exclaimed, the closest to frustrated Tsuzuki had ever seen her, but Kisuke was already on another track.

“Three check-ins, which means they must have been caught before I left…” he trailed off. “I didn’t see any overt _prisoners_ being brought in, but I can’t see inside the palanquins, of which there were many in the last two days. And I did get the feeling that there was far too much traffic for it to be a typical week.”

“Kisuke,” Yoruichi began slowly, “what exactly _are_ you implying?”

“I cannot conjecture.” He pushed several wet strands of blond hair away from his face. “All I saw were palanquins moving in and out of the mansion in a steady stream, borne by servants sometimes dressed in plain unmarked clothing, sometimes in livery adorned by sigils. To tell for certain, you’ll need someone to infiltrate the compound.”

“We don’t have that kind of time,” Yoruichi stated decisively. “If Yūshirō were alone I’d be less worried, but his team is not of the same calibre. Kisuke, I’m sorry to do this to you when you just got back, but I’d feel better if he had backup.”

“I understand.” He began to rise, slinging the towel over his shoulder as he did so.

“One last thing, and this isn’t an order – would you consider bringing Tsuzuki with you?”

Tsuzuki couldn’t help but let slip a noise of confusion at that. Kisuke stilled for a brief moment, and then sat back down on the edge of the bath, steepling his fingers on his lap and regarding her with a blank expression on his face. “Explain.”

“We both know he can keep up with you, and he’s been cooped up for far too long in the compound –”

“It’s not his competency that’s in question,” interrupted Kisuke, voice hard. “His absence is not as easily covered up as mine could be.” He didn’t break eye contact with her as he continued, “To bring this up, you must already have a plan.”

“Yes.” Her reply was succinct. “We tell them the truth – we say that he’s with you.”

“And how, precisely, are you going to explain why the Third Seat of the Onmitsukidō, who’s nominally only in charge of the Detention Unit, and your unofficial Consort – is spending so much time alone with the Shihōin clan heir? Anyone not in the know thinks that my extended absences are for vacations, and anyone with the clearance level knows that I only handle Class S missions – hardly the sort of thing you want to endanger the clan _heir_ with. Either way, they’ll want to know what I’m doing with him.”

Yoruichi gave him a _look_ Tsuzuki couldn’t read, but evidently the blond could.

“No. Definitely not.”

“Kisuke.”

“Yoruichi-san.”

She broke eye contact first, looking down at the water. “Yesterday, I received a missive from Shihōin Seishin – politely-worded, very pretty – asking to _mentor_ Tsuzuki.”

It would have been possible to hear a pin drop.

Tsuzuki sneaked a peek at Kisuke’s face – devoid of even a glimmer of its usual teasing expression – and just as quickly transferred his gaze back down to the water, which Yoruichi also seemed to be intently studying. He had no idea what they were talking about, but he could gather that being ‘mentored’ by Seishin, whatever that entailed, was something to be avoided at all costs.

“There’s no one else?”

Yoruichi slowly shook her head. “I need to make a counter-offer who can rival Seishin’s claim. You’re a Shihōin foster and a decorated Corps Commander, which has at least a chance of matching his status as the former clan head. Of the other Corps Commanders, Katsuo-san can’t act against his father, the Ōmaeda are only retainers, and Yūshirō has yet to come of age himself.”

The blond sighed, very, very softly. “And I suppose reminding him that you _had_ abolished wakashūdo the moment you rose to power eight decades ago wouldn’t be of any use.”

Tsuzuki’s head snapped up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash, but Kisuke had already held out a hand, palm towards him, in the universal sign for _stop_ before he could open his mouth. “Do you think he’ll make a claim for Yūshirō-san next?”

“I should like to see him try.” Yoruichi growled in the back of her throat. “He can argue about how the clan heir serves the interests of the clan and thus he should have a say in Tsuzuki’s training, but he can’t override _my_ authority as the head of _my_ own family.”

Kisuke cracked his neck, nodding thoughtfully. “The thing is, even if I were amenable, a ‘Shihōin foster’, even a main branch foster child, doesn’t quite match a ‘former clan head’ in terms of social status. You’ll need a recognised member of the main branch to have a snowball’s chance of matching Seishin-san of all people – and there’s only two ways of becoming a member of your family: by adoption or by marriage. By clan law you can’t adopt me unless I reveal my bankai, which leaves…”

“Yeah.” Yoruichi smirked, tiredly. “Will you marry me, Kisuke?”

The blond was silent for a long moment, and then dropped his head into his hands. “What did I do in a previous life to deserve this?” he muttered, almost inaudibly.

“Quite a lot, actually,” retorted Yoruichi tartly. “Is it so bad? It’s not like I would expect anything from you –”

One blond eyebrow rose, the rest of his face still hidden from view. “I only got a brief glance at your parents’ marital contract, so I don’t remember much of it, but I do distinctly remember the clause ‘to lay with my lawful husband each night, until I beget a male heir’. Isn’t that why they had four children?” He paused for a moment. “Not to mention, you’d be throwing me head-first into a quagmire of political struggles and social manoeuvring that I have neither the inclination nor the aptitude for.”

“Ah.” Yoruichi made the sound a long drawn-out noise. “I’d forgotten about that. Never mind, forget I asked.”

“Please formally retract your offer, Yoruichi-san.”

She frowned faintly, but obliged. “I, Shihōin Yoruichi, do formally retract my offer of marriage to one Urahara Kisuke, and doth hereby swear no retribution shall be visited for any perceived slight upon his part for the rejection of my suit.”

“Thank you.” He fell silent, then, and Tsuzuki had no idea what was going through his mind at that moment, save for the fact that Kisuke was definitely thinking of a way out of the current mess they found themselves in – never mind the fact that Tsuzuki barely had an idea why it was a problem in the first place.

Wakashūdo, he knew, was the customary form of apprenticeship amongst the military class in pre-Meiji Japan. He had no idea that Soul Society practised it – certainly, Renji and Rukia had made no mention of it, but they weren’t born into one of the military clans either. Given that Seireitei by and large seemed to be caught somewhere between the Muromachi era and the early Edo era – the height of the samurai age – he supposed that he shouldn’t have been surprised.

History had never been his forte, not that this subject was normally covered during class anyway. The more he tried to remember what he knew about wakashūdo, the more he had a sinking feeling that the history books had romanticised the entire notion. As far as he knew, the mentor was expected to tutor the youth in everything he might need to know such as martial skills, etiquette, the art of love, the code of honour, and so on, in return for the youth’s continued loyalty and devotion. It all sounded a little too good to be always true.

He considered what little he knew of Seishin after these few months – no offence to Yoruichi and Kisuke, but they seemed rather biased against the man and he didn’t know why. He was a ruthless man, all the rumours had agreed on this point, as hard on his own family as he was on others. He was famous for his take-no-prisoners policy during his reign, leading to the nickname Chizome no Ō, the Blood-stained King.

On the one hand, Tsuzuki could _understand_ – and if he could, he was sure that Yoruichi and Kisuke could – Seishin’s childhood had coincided with the Sengoku era in the Transient World. He’d seen the aftermath of the Winter War, a pandemic spreading across Japan with Karakura Town as its epicentre – he couldn’t imagine the size of the Hollow population after a century of constant warfare. On the other hand, those same rumours also suggested that Seishin did not step down willingly, and that he sought at every opportunity to re-establish his seat of power – something that Yoruichi was doing her best to prevent. In fact, if it wasn’t for the fact that her generation had been so tired of the constant fighting that they collectively jumped at the chance for new leadership, it was entirely likely a woman – even if she was from the main branch and the then Executive Militia Corps Commander – would never have come into power. Even then, sacrifices had to be made – Yoruichi had had to relinquish her former post to Katsuo, and agree to be confined to Seireitei. Purportedly, it was for her own safety, and Tsuzuki had to stifle an incredulous snort when he first heard that.

Yeah, he was starting to see why being apprenticed to Seishin would be something to avoid.

“Yoruichi-san,” Kisuke’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “I’m going to need a copy of your oath of office, _my_ oath of office, your clan head contract, your parents’ marital contract – actually, make that as many marital contracts as you can get your hands on without tipping anyone off, especially Seishin-san’s if you can manage it – as well as the brotherhood contracts for every Corps Commander, past or present.”

Yoruichi was watching him with an indecipherable look. “Consider it done.”

Kisuke gave her a single nod, rising again. “Oh, and Tsuzuki-san? Be packed and ready to leave at the West Exit in an hour.”

The door closed on his back with the finality of a thud.

Tsuzuki bit his lip, considered all the questions he had, and then turned to Yoruichi. “Uh, where’s the West Exit?”

She blinked at him, seemingly awoken from her own reverie. “Right. Go put on your Onmitsukidō uniform, I’ll meet you outside your room in ten minutes to show you where everything is.”

~*~*~*~

“This is the missions Storeroom, it’s manned round the clock by a dedicated rota of servants,” explained Yoruichi as they descended the stairs into a roughly hewn stone cavern. Tsuzuki was already hopelessly lost after the never-ending dizzying arrays of delicately painted fusuma panels that all looked similar to his uneducated eye, not to mention that Yoruichi was probably purposefully choosing a route where they’d be least likely to run into anyone else.

The Shihōin was a clan that never seemed to sleep, despite the late hour.

“Good evening, Yoruichi-sama!” A head popped up from behind a boulder, the servant girl hurrying out and sinking to her knees until a gesture from Yoruichi bade her rise again. “Tsuzuki-sama!”

“Good evening, Matsuoka-chan. Has Kisuke come by today?”

“Urahara-danchō?” asked the girl, Matsuoka, with some surprise. “No, he hasn’t been to the Storeroom since last week.”

“Then we require two short-term provision packs, and Tsuzuki here needs to be properly outfitted.”

Matsuoka eyed him speculatively. “Is my lord right- or left-handed?”

“Er, predominantly right-handed, but I’m ambidextrous,” Tsuzuki stuttered, and almost took a physical step back when her eyes _sparkled_ with unholy glee.

“Does my lord prefer ranged or melee combat? What sort of weapons are my lord accustomed to? What is my lord’s preferred style, blunt trauma or precision strikes?”

Yoruichi hastily disguised her snort of laughter as a cough, and thankfully rescued him before she could overwhelm him with the slew of questions. “Matsuoka-chan, I think a tour of the armoury may be more appropriate. Tsuzuki would be able to pick something suitable for himself.”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Matsuoka dropped into a deep bow. “My apologies, my lord, I meant no offense!”

“No offense is taken,” Tsuzuki managed to recall in time, and it must have been the correct phrase for Matsuoka straightened up, all smiles again. He couldn’t think of a better way to phrase his next question, so he eventually just asked straight out, “Uh, what is your name?”

Matsuoka’s eyes widened. “This one is called Matsuoka Kotone, my lord.”

“Right.” Tsuzuki nodded, valiantly attempting to store her face in his memory. This clan had _far. Too. Many. People._ “Nice to meet you, Kotone-chan.”

She dropped into a deep bow again. “It is an honour, my lord.”

“What’s taking you two so long?” Yoruichi came back into view, now carrying two pouches in her hands. “Equipment pouch for field rations and equipment,” she responded to his inquisitive look. “We didn’t expect you to start missions so soon; I’ll have to adjust your class schedule to remedy that.”

They moved past several boulders, until the entrance was no longer visible – Tsuzuki was starting to suspect underground caverns were a _Shihōin_ thing rather than an _Urahara_ thing, though this one was nowhere as large or as well-lit as Kisuke’s training grounds – and then, rounding another corner, he saw what they had meant by _the armoury_ :

There were rows upon rows of all sorts of swords – long, short, curved, straight – hanging next to shelves filled with smaller items he couldn’t pick out at that distance. On the far end hung several targets, presumably for practice with.

“Normally, I wouldn’t recommend bringing a sword to a stealth mission.” Yoruichi stopped in front of the sword rack. “However, the search-and-rescue component almost certainly carries the risk of combat. There are six whom we know to be missing, with another six on the way. It will be the three of you against an unknown number of fully-armed antagonists, in the enemy’s stronghold.” She stepped aside. “So, pick something you can work with.”

Tsuzuki frowned, running his hands over the display until he found something as close to Tensa Zangetsu as he could manage. He picked it up from the rack, but before he even unsheathed the katana he knew it wasn’t going to work. It was far too light, and the subtle differences in the balance were jarring. Still, he gave it a few experimental swings, and couldn’t help the moue of distaste at the lack of _connection_ he had always associated with his previous zanpakutō.

“No good?” asked Yoruichi astutely, and pursed her lips. “I think Kisuke had been meaning to make you a replica of your old sword, but he’s been busy lately.” She picked up a shorter sword, a wakizashi, and tossed it at Tsuzuki. “Try this one?”

Tsuzuki frowned down at the much shorter sword, and then regretfully sheathed it. “I’m too used to a daito, sorry.” Given that Tensa Zangetsu was a full katana and thus at least twice the length of the longest wakizashi, the difference in reach was too great to compensate for. His gaze skipped past the rest of the rack – the chokutō were totally out, he wouldn’t even know what to do with a straight-edged sword when he had only ever used curved-edged katana, and the tantō met with the same problem as the wakizashi.

“What are those?” he wondered, pointing at the rack half-hidden behind Yoruichi.

She glanced behind her. “These? These are the polearms.” She stepped aside, introducing them type by type. “The nagamaki, with straight blades. The naginata, with curved blades. And there’s a few yari, the spears.”

He moved closer, thoughtfully. “This isn’t a polearm,” he pointed out, lifting up one of the bladed weapons that first caught his eye. It looked like a katana at first glance, but there must be a reason it was in the naginata section instead. He frowned, unsheathing the weapon for a better look. The blade portion was much wider and had a greater curvature, very different from the katana he was used to seeing. In fact – he glanced at the other naginata on the rack – yes, the blade resembled that of a naginata, though the hilt was definitely that of a katana.

“It’s a naginata naoshi, a naginata blade that has been reshaped into a katana.”

Tsuzuki gave an absent nod to indicate that he had heard, settling into a basic stance with the weapon. The blade reminded him a little of Zangetsu’s Khyber knife shikai form, wide and seemingly unwieldy. The naginata naoshi was heavier than that katana he’d tried, too, and much closer to what Tensa Zangetsu had been like. It still wasn’t a perfect fit, but it would do in a pinch.

“I’ll take it,” he told the two females, sheathing it with a smooth motion and swinging it over his back to test the weight. It wasn’t quite Zangetsu, but it would do.

“Great!” Yoruichi beamed brightly, and led him over to the shelves. “We can skip the climbing equipment, I think. Armour would just slow you down,” that last sentence was directed towards Matsuoka, who had approached carrying several pieces lined with chain armour. Yoruichi picked up the hooded cloak off the pile, and waved off the rest.

“Not even the shin and arm guards, Yoruichi-sama?”

Yoruichi frowned thoughtfully, and then looked at Tsuzuki. “Well, do you think you need them?”

His first instinct was a resounding _no_ , but then he reconsidered the fact that the majority of his reiatsu was out of his reach, locked down by a reiatsu dampener. “Having them won’t hurt, I suppose,” he finally said grudgingly.

“All right, a pair of shin guards and another pair of arm guards then.” Yoruichi added those to the growing pile in her arms and waved Matsuoka off. “Meanwhile, any concealable weapon catch your fancy?”

Tsuzuki stared at the selection. There were neat rows of chained weapons like the kusarigama and the nunchaku. The former had been Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s preferred weapon, the latter was clearly the form Ikkaku’s shikai had taken. On the next shelf lay concealable bladed weapons like small daggers, sets of claws, and sai – three-pronged batons.

None of them were weapons he knew how to use, and so he moved on.

The next rack of shelves caught his interest. At first sight it appeared to be filled with rows upon rows of pebbles, but Yoruichi stopped him before he could pick one up. “Different types of explosives,” she explained succinctly. “And these egg-shaped ones are filled with blinding powder. Not something you want to set off by accident.”

Further to the right hung several short bows from the wall, with matching quivers of arrows. Tsuzuki carefully side-stepped the giant container with the kanji for ‘poison’ on it, and returned to the last rack of shelves. The top shelf was dominated by blowguns longer than some of the daggers he’d seen, a stack of darts next to them topped by a handwritten note that proclaimed “poisonous” in large words, followed by illegible scribbles of presumably the exact type of poison used. The next shelf held an array of shuriken, different kinds of thrown weapons.

Tsuzuki pursed his lips, and reached for several of the unfletched iron darts. It probably wouldn’t hurt to try. He straightened, one of the darts loosely pinched between index and middle finger, drew back his arm, and let it fly towards one of the targets on the wall. It struck the rock wall with a loud ‘ping’, and clattered to the ground.

Yoruichi whistled. “Try the rest?” she asked, indicating the other four targets on the wall.

Tsuzuki stepped away from the shelves just in case, making sure he was nowhere near that vat of poison, and twirled the next dart between his fingers. It left his hand with a little dash of reiatsu, and this time instead of falling to the floor, it buried itself within the rock with a loud grinding noise. The next three found their targets just as swiftly, tearing through the paper like a hot knife through butter and embedding themselves halfway into the wall.

Five targets now hung on the wall, four of them nailed to the rock through the dead centre.

Matsuoka made a choked noise of shock, moving to the wall to inspect each of them in turn – including the fifth, which sported a hole in its centre.

“Interesting,” was Yoruichi’s only comment, and then, “Take two full sleeves, one for each arm.”

Tsuzuki did so, and she showed him how to buckle them on, how to tuck them under the arm guards, and how to twitch his reiatsu in such a way as to slide the darts one by one into his hand. “Tell Kisuke about them on the way,” she whispered into his ear while tightening the arm guards such that they fit snugly against his arm without feeling like they were strangling his circulation. To his surprise, they were light, far lighter than he’d expected metal plates to be, and not at all cumbersome when he experimentally tried to swing his new sword with them on.

“Right,” Yoruichi muttered, ushering him out of the Storeroom. “It’s almost time, Kisuke’s probably already waiting.”

~*~*~*~

The blond was, indeed, already standing to one side when the two of them arrived at the West Exit – Tsuzuki was really going to need a map to find his way around, preferably one that was colour-coded. He nodded his thanks when Yoruichi tossed him the other equipment pouch, attaching it to his utility belt.

“This is a threefold Class S mission,” summarised Yoruichi. “First, get the rest of Yūshirō’s team out of there, this is far beyond their capabilities. Next, gather all the information you have on this smuggling ring – who their sponsors are, do they have any competitors… you know the drill, Kisuke. Last but not least, either recover the missing six members, or learn of their locations if you deem retrieval impossible. You’re the team leader, Kisuke: check in at least once a week, and try not to lose your two ducklings, all right?”

~*~*~*~

They didn’t take the gates. In fact, they avoided the towns altogether, two barely noticeable shadows under the darkened canopy of the forests that gave Junrinan its name. The former shopkeeper set a gruelling pace – not so fast that Tsuzuki couldn’t keep up, of course, but enough that he had to pay a requisite amount of attention to his surroundings so as to avoid running headfirst into a tree.

He was glad, now, that Yoruichi had given him a quick briefing on the way. Shihōin Yūshirō had left ten hours ago with a standard six-man team. It being an Outer Rukongai mission, every member of the team was at least at junior seated officer level. This meant that they were approximately twenty districts ahead, but there was every chance that they would make camp for the night before crossing into far more dangerous Outer Rukongai.

They were aiming to catch them before daybreak.

The shadow that he had been absently trailing leapt upwards, suddenly, and Tsuzuki’s first instinct was to put his back to the nearest tree, one hand going to the hilt of the weapon strapped to his back.

‘ _Stand down._ ’

It took him embarrassingly long to realise the pool of shadow a few metres ahead of them wasn’t a very big tree, but instead the silhouette of a towering wall. They had reached the edge of Junrinan.

He looked up just in time to see Kisuke spring from the branch he had been perched on, vanishing from his view. Tsuzuki flashed to the edge of the trees to see the blond swing himself effortlessly up onto the wall and pause there in a crouch. He couldn’t be sure in the dim light, but he thought Kisuke turn his head to look in his direction.

Tsuzuki craned his neck upwards, mentally estimating the height of the wall. Then he took a few steps backwards to give himself a running start, and _jumped_.

One hand slapped _painfully_ onto the unyielding stone, but the other found just sufficient purchase in a crevice, just a split-second, for him to get his feet under himself and kick off a slight protrusion in the rock with his toes. His arms cleared the top of the wall this time, and he quickly hauled himself up, blushing hotly as he sneaked a glance in Kisuke’s direction.

The blond tilted his head, the hair falling over his eyes casting them into deeper shadow, but there was no hiding the amused quirk of his lips.

Still, he was close enough – and stationary – that it only took Tsuzuki a second of fumbling to find Kisuke’s spirit ribbon.

‘ _Shut up._ ’

‘ _Maa, maa, Tsuzuki-san, I haven’t even said anything yet._ ’ The ghost of a paper fan snapping open taunted him, and for a moment he almost expected to see Kisuke whip out his omnipresent fan – except, of course, it was all in his head.

Tsuzuki clutched at the spirit ribbon, out of the – very real – concern that he wouldn’t be able to find it again while they were moving. Even as he was twining a few strands of his own reiatsu around it for good measure, he could feel the ribbon fading in and out of his senses, as though it could disappear any moment.

Kisuke glanced sideways at him, and for a moment he seemed as though he wanted to say something. Then that moment passed, and he sprung off the wall, landing without a single rustle in the grass far below. ‘ _Let’s go._ ’

~*~*~*~

Dawn was breaking when Kisuke finally slowed, head cocked to the side as though there was a sound only he could hear. Then, without speaking, he veered sharply off the path, vaulting over a clump of bushes in the way. Before Tsuzuki could so much as correct his own course, things _shot_ out of the bushes, headed straight for both of them. Kisuke twisted his body in mid-air, kicking off a branch to avoid the attacks. Tsuzuki ducked under the spray of projectiles, one hand on his weapon, the other ready with a return volley of his own.

‘ _Hold your fire._ ’

“Urahara-san-seki!” gasped the bush.

Kisuke gave a terse nod, as though it was every day he conversed with the passing foliage. “I need to speak to Yūshirō-san.”

The bushes shook, and then a head popped up to reveal a young man, absently dusting a few stray leaves out of his hair. His eyes were bright with curiosity, but he refrained from questioning them. “Camp is this way.” He led them deeper into the forest, until several bedrolls were clearly visible on the forest floor, cleverly camouflaged amongst the foliage.

Yūshirō twitched in his sleep as they came closer, and then his eyes blinked open. “I thought I felt your presence, Kisuke-san.” He yawned, rubbing his eyes blearily, and sat up. “What happened?”

“Fresh intel came in while you were away,” Kisuke told him succinctly, squatting down next to his bedroll. “We’re reclassifying this mission.”

Yūshirō’s hand dropped into his lap and he suddenly looked wide awake. His eyes swept across the rest of his squad, who were now sluggishly rolling out of their own bedrolls. “Everyone,” he didn’t audibly raise his voice, but it projected across the camp nonetheless. “We have a change of mission parameters.” He nodded to the blond, who stood up and began scaling the nearest tree. “This mission is now Class S, so all of you are dismissed.”

The camp came awake in a matter of moments, the other five squad members packing up quickly and efficiently. More than one glanced in confusion at Yūshirō or Tsuzuki, but none ventured a question. On his part, Yūshirō personally thanked each of them for coming so far, and assured them that they had the next few days off just as if they’d returned from a full-length mission.

Only when the last person was out of earshot did Yūshirō continue, gaze open and inquisitive. “Tsuzuki-san, right?”

Tsuzuki made a little bow, as one equal to another. “Yes, please take care of me.”

Yūshirō laughed ruefully, a high clear sound, for the first time sounding like the child he looked like. “I can hardly presume thus. Instead, please do take care of _me_.” He picked up his own backpack, hoisting it easily over a shoulder despite the fact that it rose a good height above his head, and Tsuzuki was sharply reminded of the fact that although he resembled a child in appearance, this was _Yoruichi’s_ younger brother.

Then Yūshirō turned to Kisuke, who was climbing down from the tree. “What happened?”

The blond dropped the last few metres to the ground, and began picking his way through the trees. Tsuzuki assumed that he had been checking the direction of the sun, which was almost hidden by the canopy above them. “There’s apparently a smuggling syndicate active in North District 53, operating out of the shinigami outpost.  We suspect that the missing squad was detained by them.”

The boy made a sound of comprehension. “They’re well-connected and well-armed, aren’t they.” It wasn’t a question, and the silence was a sufficient answer. “Well then, lead on, team leader.” His voice was light, but his face held no trace of humour. “Let’s show them why they shouldn’t take the Onmitsukidō so lightly.”

~*~*~*~

“Ne, Tsuzuki-san, what’s your weapon of choice?”

After the hours of silence, it took Tsuzuki a few moments to realise that Yūshirō had spoken aloud, and another embarrassing moment before he belatedly realised that the boy was addressing _him_.

“Uh,” he fumbled, “I’ve got a naginata naoshi,” he indicated the sword strapped to his back, “and two sleeves of throwing darts.”

Yūshirō eyed his back shrewdly, a faint crease in his brow. “That’s not your zanpakutō, is it?”

“No,” agreed Tsuzuki. After spending four years in a state of permanent shikai, he was feeling a little naked with just a plain sword, but he could make do.

“Forgive me, but I wonder why nee-sama chose to send you on a Class S for your first mission.” Yūshirō tilted his head while running, violet hair flying across his face. “Did something happen at the compound?”

“Uh,” he said intelligently. To be honest, he didn’t know why Yoruichi had sent him away either. She couldn’t still be angry about that time when those boys invaded his room, could she? That was last week!

It didn’t escape his notice either that the other two members on the mission were both Corps Commanders, so either Kisuke believed Tsuzuki to be at that level even without his zanpakutō, or he believed he could compensate for Tsuzuki if necessary.

“Seishin has made an offer of mentorship for Tsuzuki. Yoruichi-san and I believed it was prudent to get him out as soon as possible.” Hearing Kisuke’s voice float back to them, Yūshirō hissed in something that might have been shock or horror.

Or maybe, Tsuzuki reflected ruefully, the situation was far more dire than he’d expected it to be.

As though reading his mind, Kisuke added almost cheerfully, “Besides, he managed to defeat Katsuo-san without his zanpakutō, so I think he’ll be fine.” He held up a hand. “The border of District 50 is just ahead. We’ll camp here for the night.”

~*~*~*~

Middle of the woods, check. Derelict mansion, check. Guards patrolling the perimeter, check. This was it, then.

At a single gesture, they circled once around the compound, Kisuke silently pointing out all the entryways and potential escape routes. They then set up camp in a small clearing as close to the compound as they dared, peppering it with reiatsu concealment wards, one-way noise cancelling wards, and intruder detection wards.

His job complete, Kisuke sat down with his back against the trunk of a tree, and within moments his breathing evened out. With three of them, they could afford to handle the mission in shifts, such that there was always one person on surveillance, one person awake in the camp, and one person asleep. As discussed the previous night, Kisuke would be taking the late night shift, Yūshirō the day shift, and Tsuzuki the evening shift. Each of them would be spending four hours awake, eight hours on surveillance, another four hours awake, and then eight hours asleep.

Tsuzuki was starting to understand why Yoruichi didn’t bother giving him a bedroll: the one Yūshirō was carrying was enough for the three of them.

~*~*~*~*~

Three days later, it was clear that something was wrong. None of them had seen a single person enter or leave the compound, despite their around-the-clock surveillance. Even if they assumed that Kisuke had witnessed some abnormally high traffic, the lack of activity was suspicious.

After a brief discussion, it was determined that they would have to infiltrate the compound to figure out what was going on. Doing so in the latter half of the night, when the patrolling guards were the most worn out, seemed to be the most sensible option.

Getting in almost seemed _too_ simple, in Tsuzuki’s opinion. Then again, his opinion might be a little skewed, given that the sort of places he was used to infiltrating were more along the lines of Seireitei, Las Noches, and the Soul King’s Palace. Compared to those, he supposed that a simple shinigami outpost – whether it was home to a criminal syndicate or not – would seem laughably easy.

The corridors, painted a sterile white, were devoid of any signs of life. They’d entered through an open window into some kind of abandoned sitting room on the third floor, bypassing most of the potential security – assuming, of course, that the leaders of this operation wouldn’t want a bunch of thugs near sensitive information – but even then the complete lack of guards set Tsuzuki’s teeth on edge.

Since this was a shinigami outpost, they were operating under the assumption that there were reiatsu sensors around, which meant they had to rely on natural physique instead of reiatsu enhancements. Tsuzuki was glad that most of his reiatsu was currently suppressed and out of reach – there was no way he could have hidden all of it on his own. He was equally glad for the fact that Kisuke, who was leading the way, seemed to have some preternatural method of picking out the floorboards that wouldn’t creak under their weight, and so all they had to do was follow his lead.

There was a single door at the end of the corridor. Despite the lack of light shining through the paper door panel, Kisuke held up a hand and paused at the doorway, pressing his ear to the thin wooden frame. On the other side of the door, Yūshirō did the same, then shook his head once. There was no sound coming from inside the room.

At a gesture, Tsuzuki let a throwing dart fall into each hand, readying himself to react at the slightest hint of movement. Slowly, the two of them eased the door open, careful not to knock the sliding panel against the frame. Tsuzuki kept his eyes peeled, but the room was still and devoid of life.

Kisuke waited until he was sure he had Tsuzuki’s attention, and then made a very obvious once-over of the room, first tilting his head upwards to scan the ceiling thoroughly, then sweeping the room from left to right and back again, and finally examining every inch of the floor. Only then did he set foot over the threshold. Even then, they couldn’t be certain the room was as empty as it appeared – a huge ornate desk dominated the room, dwarfing the high-backed throne behind it. The moonlight shone through large windows covered entirely with decorative metal inlays, forming deep pools of shadows on the floor.

What caught Tsuzuki’s attention was the cabinets lining one wall. Upon closer inspection, they were stuffed full of papers, but none of them were labelled. He was about to pull out a folder to check its contents when he heard the door slide shut with a soft click.

Tsuzuki whirled around, a throwing dart at the ready, only to see Yūshirō step away from the door. Yoruichi’s younger brother gave him an odd look, crossing over to the opposite end of the room. Only then did Tsuzuki realise there was another door, slightly ajar, and that Kisuke was nowhere in sight.

In the other room was, apparently, a bedroom of some sort. The futon was laid out but empty, which was odd for this time of the night, but what caught his eye was the closet running along one wall. The doors were open, revealing rows of richly embroidered kimonos. Tsuzuki frowned. What noblewoman would frequent such a place?

Movement in the depths of the closet caught his eye, and Tsuzuki tensed again, only to relax a moment later when blond hair came into view. He frowned. Kisuke looked vaguely discomfited, and he made some jerky gestures to Yūshirō, who very visible startled in surprise. Before he could ask either of them to explain what was going on, though, all three of their heads snapped to the ajar door.

There was the sound of running footsteps coming down the corridor.

Tsuzuki took two instinctive steps forwards before realising there was no other way out. In that time, Yūshirō had quietly slid the door separating the bedroom from the office shut, and Kisuke had an arm around Tsuzuki’s chest and was pulling him insistently towards the closet. Then a warm palm clamped itself over Tsuzuki’s mouth, and he was shoved into a pile of fabric.

He wanted to protest – he wasn’t an idiot, he hadn’t made a sound the entire time, why didn’t they trust him to keep quiet? – but then it hit him.

The cloying smell of blood.

Tsuzuki was glad for the hand sealed over his mouth, then, for he would have gasped aloud in shock had Kisuke not pre-emptively cut off his air supply. Even then, it took him a few moments to relax the death-grip he had on Kisuke’s forearm, an instinctive reaction to being effectively choked. Immediately, the hand around his mouth slackened, letting him cautiously suck in a lungful of air, trying not to wheeze.

He couldn’t see anything in the pitch darkness of the closet – Yūshirō, whom Tsuzuki could feel pressed up against his back, must have closed the door while he was preoccupied – and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. For the smell of blood to still be so strong meant the body had yet to dissolve into reishi; in other words, the death had occurred within the past day or so. Tsuzuki hadn’t seen any signs of blood on the bedroom floor, but it had been too dark to see much.

_Bodies littered the ground, enemies and allies alike. The scent of blood thick in the air._

He took a huge gulp of air, glad that Kisuke’s hand was still resting loosely over his mouth, trying to get rid of the phantom taste of blood in his mouth. The line of Yūshirō’s body was a hot brand against his back, and he consciously tried to relax, letting the two points of contact anchor him to the present.

A crash in the next room made him jump. Well, if the newcomer wanted their attention, he had it. He certainly wasn’t trying to be quiet, now that Tsuzuki was concentrating his surroundings. Another crash sounded, followed by the unmistakeable rustling of papers. Then, the sound of footsteps fading into the distance down the corridor, accompanied by the occasional squeak of the floorboards.

The closet door was flung open unceremoniously, and Kisuke half-dragged Tsuzuki out into the office area, pushing him down insistently until he was sitting on the floor, and pressing his head down between his knees. Tsuzuki took a few more gulps of air, and then raised his head blearily to see the other two squatting – well, Kisuke squatting, Yūshirō kneeling in seiza – by the piles of paper strewn all across the office floor, skimming through their contents.

And then the door slid open again, catching all three of them by surprise.

Yūshirō, who had his back to the door, immediately dropped into a forward roll across the papers, and not a moment too soon – for a blade plunged directly down where he had been a moment ago, quivering slightly in the wooden floorboards. Tsuzuki flung himself sideways as the newcomer’s attention turned to him next, narrowly evading a thin projectile of some sort. His shoulder smashed into the desk, and he bit back a cry of pain, righting himself just in time to see Kisuke spring for the intruder, a glint of metal in his hand.

The knife was knocked out of Kisuke’s hand by a harsh chop, and the former shopkeeper didn’t bother trying to pick it up, instead grabbing the outstretched wrist and _twisting_ it sharply to the side. His opponent went with the flow, allowing himself to be flipped upside-down, but then diverted Kisuke’s kick with an open-palmed smack to the knee and Kisuke had to let go to avoid the legs threatening to wrap around his neck.

They both backed up a step, assessing each other, and then leapt at the same time. There was no way Tsuzuki could do anything to help without running the risk of hitting Kisuke by accident – they were ducking and swerving around each other far too fast for him to get a solid bead on the hooded assassin. Across the room, Yūshirō evidently thought the same, for he was crouched in a ready position but otherwise motionless. Their eyes met in mutual understanding, and both of them turned their attention to the fierce hand-to-hand in the middle of the room, ready to pounce on the first opportunity.

Finally, Kisuke managed to get the other into a chokehold with both hands, until the other assassin went limp in his grip. He held on a moment longer just to be sure, and then let go to check for a pulse.

Without opening his eyes, the assassin drew up both his legs and kicked Kisuke directly in the sternum.

Caught completely off-guard, the blond went flying, and Tsuzuki winced at the sickening thump of flesh against the wall. But he had already fired the moment Kisuke was no longer within his range, two bo-shuriken whistling through the air to their intended target. The assassin yanked out a knife from nowhere and managed to parry the first one, but the second caught him in the arm and the third – hidden in the shadow of the first two, helped along by the dim lighting in the room – lodged itself in his shoulder.

And then Yūshirō was on him, holding a knife to his neck. Taking the chance, Tsuzuki unsheathed his naginata naoshi, settling into a ready stance just in case the assassin tried anything.

He needn’t have worried. There was a quiet ‘click’, a hiss, and Yūshirō had to leap backwards as the assassin’s body burst into flames. Tsuzuki and Yūshirō exchanged a mutual glance of horror as his clothes caught fire far too quickly to be put out, right before the hood fell off. Hateful eyes glared back at them from the face of a young woman, a moment before it too was swallowed by the flames.

Uttering a sharp curse – the first time any of them had spoken the entire time – Yūshirō dropped onto his knees and began sweeping all the papers scattered over the floor into his arms. A moment later, Tsuzuki belatedly realised why – the fire wasn’t stopping, and the floor was made of wood.

Kisuke clambered unsteadily to his feet with a nearly inaudible groan over the crackle of the fire, and started pulling the nearest folders from the cabinets. Tsuzuki sprang forwards to help, sweeping the files off the shelves into Yūshirō’s arms.

And then an arm was tugging him insistently away from the last shelf, pulling him out of the room. Tsuzuki coughed harshly, eyes watering, only then realising that the office was full of smoke and that Yūshirō was already ahead of them, laden down with a tower of files taller than he was. He glanced back to see Kisuke yanking on the last shelf, physically ripping the wooden construct out together with all the folders – no point in concealing their reiatsu any further, he supposed, since stealth was clearly no longer an option – and leaping over the tongues of flames to reach the doorway.

They sped down the corridor to the stairs at the far end, taking them three at a time. Despite the fire nipping at their heels, they encountered no one else until they reached the first floor, where they were greeted by the sight of dead bodies strewn carelessly over the ground, clad in the uniform of the guards. The assassin had clearly not left any eyewitnesses. At the foot of the stairs laid the face-down body of a portly male, hair greying at his temples, one hand outstretched as though in entreaty. Probably the one who had interrupted them the first time, Tsuzuki surmised. Yūshirō kicked him over with one foot, and then shook his head. He didn’t recognise the man.

Then there was no time for thinking as they burst out of the compound, stopping just outside the enclosure just in time to watch the entire building go up in flames. Kisuke frowned contemplatively, but Tsuzuki couldn’t feel a sense of urgency emanating from him, and then he realised why: there was a ring of bare earth, about several dozen people wide, all around the mansion. The fire wouldn’t be able to spread to the rest of the forest.

Nevertheless, they stood and watched just to make sure, until the flames died down to mere embers. Only then did they make a beeline for the clearing where they had left the rest of their belongings. Tsuzuki dropped his armful of folders on the ground with a thankful groan, and stared at the small mountain in vague dismay. How were they going to find anything useful in that mess?

Undeterred, Kisuke picked up the first folder atop the pile and opened it – or tried to, anyway. There was a soft buzzing sound, and the blond dropped the folder right before an arc of electricity danced over it. The three of them exchanged looks, Tsuzuki slowly putting down the folder he was about to open.

Then Kisuke picked the fallen folder off the ground, turning it this way and that, and then showed the two of them a tiny seal inscribed into the edge of the folder. “I think,” he said very slowly, completely forgoing radio silence, “we have a problem.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can you crack it?”
> 
> “A Nakatomi seal?” Kisuke asked wryly. “Crafted with their guarded family techniques, which had been passed down in the utmost secrecy for millennia?” He tossed the folder in his hands down and stood up, dusting himself off as he did so. “Eh, you’ll have to give me a few days.”

“You don’t say.” Yūshirō’s voice was dry as a desert. He squinted at the tiny seal, and then made a quiet hissing noise between his teeth. “It can’t be… this is… a Nakatomi special?” His tone lilted upwards in his incredulity, though he kept his voice low. “How in the name of _Izanagi-no-mikoto_ did they get their hands on one of _these_?”

Tsuzuki bent his head over the folder, and it took him several blinks to figure out what Yūshirō must have noticed – the kanji for _Nakatomi_ inscribed at the bottom, in calligraphic strokes so fine they were probably carved by magic rather than an actual brush. “Maybe they bought or stole it?” he hazarded a guess, though he really had no idea. His tutoring had so far been focused on the extensive history of the Shihōin Clan, and only briefly touched upon the other Five Great Noble Clans. Pretty much all he knew about the Nakatomi was that they specialised in kidō.

Yūshirō blinked at him.

“Tsuzuki-san,” he started, and then for some reason shot an indecipherable look at Kisuke, who wasn’t paying either of them any attention. “The starting price of a basic Nakatomi seal is six digits,” Yūshirō said slowly. “Even a normal captain wouldn’t have been able to afford it, much less lower-ranked shinigami like the ones stationed at the outpost. And they’re locked to specific reiatsu frequencies, so a thief wouldn’t be able to apply them.”

Tsuzuki stared back at him, and made a mental note to find some more information on the other Great Noble Clans. Clearly _specialised in kidō_ was a gross understatement.

Yūshirō bent down, picking up another folder from the pile on the ground, and turned it over to reveal the same seal stamped into it, blending in so closely with the grain of the wood that Tsuzuki would have missed it had he not been specifically looking for it. “An unlimited-capacity duplicable multi-reiatsu lock? That’s got to be five hundred thousand, minimum. That’s more than an entire year’s worth of my shinigami senior office salary plus Onmitsukidō salary _plus_ main branch Shihōin allowance. Honestly, even in our clan, the only people who’d be able to afford this would probably be nee-sama, _maybe_ Seishin-dono, or Kisuke-san, but I can’t imagine he’d blow his entire research and development fund on this.”

“I’d rather make my own,” Kisuke shot back absently. The blond was squatting on the floor, checking each individual folder for the seal. There was a sizeable pile growing to his side, and he shook his head when they both looked at him. All of them were sealed, it seemed like.

“Can you crack it?”

“A Nakatomi seal?” Kisuke asked wryly. “Crafted with their guarded family techniques, which had been passed down in the utmost secrecy for millennia?” He tossed the folder in his hands down and stood up, dusting himself off as he did so. “Eh, you’ll have to give me a few days.”

Yūshirō shared a commiserating grin with Tsuzuki.

Then he sobered, putting his hands on his hips and frowning down at the sizeable pile at their feet, voicing the obvious. “We don’t have a few days, though; a few _hours_ , if we’re lucky.” Evidently coming to some kind of decision, Yūshirō went over to his rucksack, and began pulling the contents out. When the bag was completely empty, he began stuffing the folders inside.

Kisuke nodded in approval and knelt down, smoothing his palms over the ground by the roots of the gigantic oak, where they had slept for the past few days. He whispered something too soft for Tsuzuki to hear, and it was as though the soil had turned to quicksand beneath his hands, a deep hole appearing in the ground in mere moments. The blond then pushed the former contents of Yūshirō’s backpack into the hole and covered it back up with another muttered phrase. “This should hold until we’re able to retrieve them.”

“Why not bury the folders instead?” wondered Tsuzuki, helping to shovel folders into Yūshirō’s rucksack.

“Too dangerous to leave them lying around,” panted Yūshirō, yanking on the sides of his pack in an effort to make the last few folders fit. “Camping supplies are more innocuous.” With a final hiss of triumph, he tugged the flaps of the rucksack into place. Experimentally hefting it with one arm, he made a face, and propped it against the nearest tree. “Right, we’re good to go.”

Kisuke’s wrist flexed like he was tapping an invisible fan against his lips, and then he shot his empty hand a look of betrayal. “It’s a two-day journey back to the compound,” he mused.

The apparent non-sequitur threw Tsuzuki for a loop, but Yūshirō was nodding thoughtfully. “If they can get hold of a Nakatomi seal, we’re probably dealing with something way bigger than we’ve ever expected. It won’t be safe to drop the files off at the nearest Shihōin base, and too dangerous for just one person to act as courier.”

“Not to mention, even if we head out immediately after getting back, the trail would have gone cold by then.” Kisuke’s hand spasmed, almost as if he was snapping a fan open, and he ignored it when Yūshirō shot him a very odd look. “There’s no choice, we’ll have to take the files with us. I’ll summon a jigoku-chō to update Yoruichi-san on the situation.”

“We… have a trail to follow?” asked Yūshirō blankly, but for once Tsuzuki knew the answer to that.

“You’re thinking of the Fujiwara Clan, aren’t you.” It didn’t come out phrased as a question, as pieces of the puzzle clicked together. “They’re a really big clan, rich enough to possibly afford this seal, and known to utilise the smuggling services.”

Kisuke flashed him a look, equal parts surprised and approving, and made a hum of assent.

~*~*~*~*~

Unlike every other shinigami whom he’d ever seen summon a jigoku-chō, Kisuke didn’t use his zanpakutō. Instead, he lifted a hand, curling it loosely like he was wrapping his fingers around a door knocker, and swung it three times in quick succession.

Tsuzuki had no idea how to even _begin_ to describe the sensation that came next, but it was like some sort of deep vibration set into in his bones, reverberating in his skull in a manner that transcended mere sound. He flinched backwards instinctively.

Even his _teeth_ ached.

“Don’t grit your teeth, that makes it worse,” advised Yūshirō in a low voice, and with some effort Tsuzuki fought to unclench his jaw.

He felt more than heard the answering dull clang that signalled the opening of a gate, but unlike the usual summons there was no Senkaimon opening anywhere he could see. Instead, between one blink and the next a black butterfly was suddenly perched on Kisuke’s outstretched finger as though it had been there the whole time.

Tsuzuki started. “How –” but he couldn’t figure out how to word his question. “Why –”

Yūshirō scratched his head as Kisuke began murmuring to the jigoku-chō in a low voice. “Eh, I’m not too sure about the specifics? Something about… it’s easier to register a butterfly to a zanpakutō, because each zanpakutō has its own unique pattern of frequencies and amplitudes, so everyone can get a personal one and you don’t have to consciously _think_ about what you’re doing when you summon it. But if you can manage to replicate the exact pattern on your own, then you don’t actually need to use a zanpakutō?”

Tsuzuki was starting to think that the shinigami world wasn’t as clear-cut as he thought it was. “So, he’s somehow mimicking Benihime’s, uh, reiatsu pattern?”

He had no idea why that made Yūshirō _stare_ at him for a long while.

“No,” the boy finally answered. “That would be really difficult, even for Kisuke-san. He’s using one of the Shihōin Special Ops’ butterflies, which have been trained to evade capture via normal means; there’s a whole cage of them attuned to a basic repetitive mnemonic pattern to make it possible to summon them without a zanpakutō. Pretty much all the senior seated officers have access to them – if they can get the pattern down, that is. In practice, almost no one uses them unless they have to.”

They turned as Kisuke looked up, the butterfly fluttering off.

“The Fujiwara main branch house is located in North District 51,” he said, probably more for Tsuzuki’s benefit, since Yūshirō was busy heaving the pack over his shoulders. He looked even more ridiculous now, the bulging backpack teetering precariously well over his head. Yūshirō jumped up and down a few times, shaking the pack until the contents seemed to reach a manageable balance, and then looked expectantly at Kisuke.

The blond flicked a glance up at the sky, whose hue was far lighter than the deep twilight it had been before. “We’re going to go at a slower pace this time, make sure we aren’t spotted. I want us to get there before daybreak.”

~*~*~*~*~

Even at the reduced pace they were travelling, two districts didn’t take very long to cover. That wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was –

“How many guards does this place _have_?” wondered Yūshirō in faint exasperation after the third patrol of the hour had passed out of sight. He yanked his head back behind the tree that hid him before even a hint of the pre-dawn light could reflect off his eyes, potentially attracting unwanted attention.

Behind another, Kisuke was frowning faintly at the wide berth between the edge of the treeline and the start of the compound fence. “Paranoid,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“With good reason?” Tsuzuki pointed out, leaning against his own tree. “They _are_ one of the biggest clans around, and I can’t imagine people have been very happy with the way they bullied their way into noble status purely based on their station in life.”

“Maybe there’s less guards at the back,” proposed Yūshirō, though his tone suggested that even he didn’t believe it.

Still, it didn’t hurt to check.

Just to be on the safe side, they withdrew even further into the forest, until they could just barely see hints of the high walls surrounding the compound, and it seemed like an interminable amount of time had passed before Yūshirō held up a hand to stop them. He flashed several hand signs at Kisuke, who visibly startled, his entire upper body straightening slowly from the half-slouch it had been in.

The blond looked back at Tsuzuki, thinking for a moment, and okay – Tsuzuki was _so_ looking up the Shihōin hand signals the moment he got back, he was getting really tired of missing important information. Finally, Kisuke put a finger to his lips, and then used that same finger to point towards the compound.

So, they were going to get closer to investigate… something. Something Yūshirō had noticed?

Tsuzuki nodded to show his understanding. They’d deliberately pulled back so far to avoid detection by the potential retired shinigami dotting Fujiwara’s guards, so whatever it was, it must be important.

They crept towards the compound again, far more cautiously this time, just in case there was a passing patrol. Yūshirō swung himself into the branches of a tree as close as he dared, as agile as a monkey, and peeked out from amidst the foliage. Tsuzuki wished he could see what was going on too, but he wouldn’t know what to look for even if he could see into the compound, and so he contented himself with leaning against another tree, Kisuke across from him, both of them watching Yūshirō’s silhouette perched in the tree.

Yūshirō suddenly made a few quick, jabbing motions, and Kisuke unfolded his arms with a brisk movement. He made to take a step forward, but then froze, his head swivelling unerringly to the other side. At the same time, Yūshirō crouched down on his branch, pressing himself flush against the tree trunk as much as he was able.

Tsuzuki didn’t need to understand hand signals to know what was going on, flattening himself against his own tree.

_Incoming patrol._

And unlike the guards at the front, these were close enough to the wall that they could hear them speaking.

“– thought I heard –”

Someone else laughed. “Probably a squirrel.”

Tsuzuki frowned. None of them had made anything that could have been deemed _noise_ – all he was doing was standing behind a tree, and Yūshirō barely rustled the leaves – so how could the first guard have heard anything?

Evidently chastened, the first guard didn’t speak up again.

“You, there! Stop gawking and get back to work!”

More than ever, Tsuzuki wished he could see over the high wall – or maybe through it. It was a small eternity before Yūshirō rose once more, signalling that the guards had passed out of earshot. He shimmied off the tree instead of just hopping down, probably to reduce the amount of noise generated, and then they both turned expectantly to Kisuke.

Kisuke paused in thought, and then made a very exaggerated waving hand signal that even Tsuzuki understood to mean ‘retreat to a safe distance away’.

~*~*~*~*~

‘A safe distance’ apparently meant ‘one entire district away’, but given the level of paranoia the Fujiwara Clan displayed Tsuzuki felt it was somewhat understandable. That last guard patrol had been far too close.

"How _did_ that guard hear anything?" Yūshirō burst out as soon as they stopped. He shook his bangs out of his eyes, curiosity warring with annoyance in his expression.

Kisuke gave a shrug.

“You don't know.” Yūshirō replied slowly, and then repeated it, far too gleefully. “There’s something that even _Kisuke-san_ doesn’t know.”

The blond looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but was resisting the urge for some reason. “Probably some form of mild synaesthesia, if I had to guess. One that lets him hear reiatsu. But never mind that, we already knew that there are shinigami sensors in the guards.” He gave Yūshirō an expectant look. “So, what did you find out?”

Yūshirō sobered. “Yes, I wasn’t mistaken – I now have visual confirmation of one of the members from the missing patrol.”

Tsuzuki started.

“I’d thought that I caught a hint of familiar reiatsu, so I signalled for a closer look,” Yūshirō was explaining, words curt and clipped, in the tone of a report rather than the informal speech Tsuzuki had grown used to hearing from him. “He had his head bent over his work, but when that guard suggested hearing something coming from the forest, he looked up and I was able to get a good look at his face. There’s no mistake, he’s one of ours, who went out on patrol last week and never came back. An unseated officer, but one of those close enough to achieving a junior seated officer position that we’ve started letting them go on milk runs.” He shifted, his uncertainty breaking through his façade. “Kisuke-san, what are we going to do? The three of us isn’t enough to take on the entire Fujiwara clan in their own stronghold, and a successful infiltration isn’t likely.”

Kisuke exhaled, long and slow, his grey eyes sharpening in calculation. “No, that would be suicide. The back’s just as well-guarded as the front, and they’ve likely got a 24-hour guard rotation going on.”

“So we can’t go through the back,” summarised Tsuzuki. He looked expectantly at Kisuke. “What do we do, then?”

He was rewarded with a quicksilver flash of mischievousness, there and gone almost immediately.

“Why, we go through the front door, of course.”

~*~*~*~*~

To his credit, their team leader endured their incredulous shouts until Tsuzuki and Yūshirō both realised that they were basically talking over each other, not giving Kisuke any chance to go into any detail. By mutual unspoken agreement, they both settled down, waiting expectantly.

“Yūshirō-san, I don’t suppose you’d have a kimono secretly sequestered somewhere? Preferably a furisode?”

“Er.” Yūshirō shot Tsuzuki a completely bamboozled look. “No?” He hiked his rucksack up higher on his shoulders, as if to ask, _where would I be hiding something like that?_

“Pity,” Kisuke murmured, before directing his next non-sequitur at Tsuzuki. “The naginata naoshi and the throwing darts, are those the only things you’re carrying? No armour, for instance?”

“I… think so?” Tsuzuki answered, valiantly trying to remember back to the whirlwind of activity when he’d been outfitted in the Storeroom. “That girl manning the Storeroom did ask Yoruichi-nee-sama about armour, but she said it would be better for me to travel light.”

Kisuke made a noise of contemplation. “Who was she?”

Tsuzuki was really getting thrown for a loop. “Uh, I think her name was, uh, something about music… piano music? Kotone?” Was that supposed to be a pop quiz of some kind?

At least Yūshirō looked as lost as he felt.

“Matsuoka Kotone? The third daughter of the younger brother to the current head of the Matsuoka clan?”

“Okay, _how_ do you remember these things?” growled Tsuzuki in exasperation. “And what does that have do with anything, anyway?”

“Hm,” Kisuke said in lieu of any meaningful reply, and then he must have caught sight of the murderous expression on Tsuzuki’s face, for he sighed and _finally_ began to explain himself. “We’ve already established that we won’t be able to enter via clandestine means, which means going in as Covert Ops members is out of the question. However, if the younger brother of the Shihōin Clan Head turns up at the front gate asking for sanctuary for the night, with a bodyguard and a personal valet in tow, the Fujiwara wouldn’t be able to turn him away, at least without drawing the ire of the Shihōin Clan as a whole. Yūshirō’s true role within the Onmitsukidō, much like my own, is a clan secret. To the outside world, he looks – and sounds – like just another child; no one would suspect him of subterfuge.”

As ideas went, Tsuzuki had to admit – though he’d never say it to Kisuke’s face – it was pretty genius.

“Er,” Yūshirō coughed. “What _would_ I be doing in District 51 on my own, anyway?”

Kisuke’s lip twitched. “Getting away from your overbearing older sister, insisting that you’re now old enough to conduct inspections on the Shihōin forward bases on your own? Of course, you seem to have gotten a tad bit turned around, but no worries, you just require shelter for the night? It would have been better if we could have scrounged up a furisode for you, make you look even more child-like, but no matter; your current attire will have to do.”

Yūshirō barked out a startled laugh. “That’s brilliant; given the impression nee-sama leaves on most people, they’d buy this story hook, line and sinker.”

Kisuke’s eyes flicked over to Tsuzuki. “It’s a good thing we haven’t officially introduced you to the other clans yet – the elders wanted your etiquette to be up to par before you embarrass them. We’ll be able to pass you off as Yūshirō’s personal valet, recruited from a family normally resident in Rukongai, which would nicely excuse your awkward keigo.”

Tsuzuki shrugged, not even trying to protest the point. His societal niceties were definitely nowhere close to befitting his new position, and his tutors were practically tearing their hair out trying to teach him the subtleties of peerage and linguistic form. He honestly didn’t see why there were six ways of politely exchanging pointed little barbs with someone under the guise of conversation, though he’d – grudgingly – admit that perhaps going around calling everyone ‘ _hey, you’_ was a little inappropriate.

“We’ll want to arrive around dusk, where everyone’s a little tired after a long day, and the shadows will be able to obscure our movements if necessary,” continued Kisuke, blissfully unaware of – or disregarding – Tsuzuki’s momentary inattention. “We’ve got about eight hours to kill before then, so I suggest everyone get some rest. We’ll likely be up all night.”

He took a few steps away to summon another butterfly – this time Tsuzuki remembered to relax his jaw the moment the vibrations started – and spoke quietly to it. “Yoruichi-san, remember that implied scenario that I told you I cannot conjecture? I’m afraid it’s exactly that.”

~*~*~*~*~

“– long have you known Tsuzuki-san?”

Did someone just call his name?

“As I've mentioned before, about two months before Yoruichi-san brought him back to the clan.”

The response was just a low murmur, its familiarity very nearly lulling him back to sleep, and he would have gladly heeded the siren call if it wasn’t for the sudden sensation of unease threading through him. Was it the undertone? Some kind of tension his subconscious picked up?

“... Kisuke-san, you used to be a much better liar than this.”

There was a long pause, during which Tsuzuki drifted further into wakefulness.

“You say that the two of you _just happened_ to sense an enormous reiatsu erupting in an abandoned valley, and _just happened_ to find him when you went to investigate?” The speaker paused, as though to let his utter incredulity sink in. “Even _I_ don't believe that, and I actually know the true story of how you met nee-sama. For one, there's no way you and him trust each other as much as the two of you do, if you'd just met.”

“And how much would that be?” Kisuke’s voice was soft, a velvet sheath over an edge of steel, and Tsuzuki’s muscles tensed in sheer anticipation before his sleep-sluggish mind could even rewind and replay the conversation he’d accidentally overheard.

“And I suppose you’d just let any stranger twine their reiatsu around yours, do you?” Yūshirō, in contrast, was a study in exasperation. “I’ve seen them, when I was trying to contact you back in the mansion; tendrils of Tsuzuki-san’s reiatsu laced through the edge of yours, in a lattice that’s impossible to create unless you deliberately _let_ him manipulate your reiatsu field.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he has _no idea_ what it means. Knowing Tsuzuki, he probably thinks it’s the equivalent of grabbing my sleeve so that he won’t get lost.”

There was the swish of hair, as though Yūshirō had just shaken his head. Then he drew in a breath. “That, I would believe, but it doesn’t explain why you didn’t _stop him_. The Kisuke-san I’ve known my whole life wouldn’t have trusted someone enough to play with his _hair_ , much less his reiatsu, not unless something completely life-changing has happened between the three of you.”

When Kisuke didn’t rebut him immediately, Yūshirō continued, “And at that time I thought back to the moment when you put your hand over his mouth, and he almost immediately goes limp – _who_ doesn’t even instinctively struggle when they’re being strangled? For that matter, Tsuzuki-san’s really good at the _hurry up and wait_ part of missions, even though he’s supposedly a civilian. Even I wouldn’t be able to lie down and fall asleep in ten minutes when you tell us to ‘rest’. And, for heaven’s sake, he _knows the name of your zanpakutō spirit_!”

For a while, Yūshirō’s loud breathing was the only sound in the death-like silence, and then he exhaled explosively. “I personally don’t care, but... it’s like you're a different person now. You and nee-sama both.”

“Ah!” He must have seen something in Kisuke’s expression. “But it’s not a bad thing! It’s like... um... you’re both more... _settled_ now? Grown-up?” He paused. “No, wait, it’s more like the two of your found something that none of us even knew was missing in the first place. Yeah. That’s a good phrase for it.”

Yūshirō let it sink in for a while, and then sighed softly. “But if I can see this, there’s no way everyone else missed it. You need to be more careful, Kisuke-san.”

“And you need to stop eavesdropping, Tsuzuki-san.”

Caught red-handed, there was nothing else Tsuzuki could do but to open his eyes, amidst Yūshirō’s startled flailing. He took in the shuttered expression on Kisuke’s face, and then wisely chose not to comment upon it.

“So... how _did_ you and Yoruichi-nee-sama meet?”

He was met with rapid blinking from two surprised faces, but Kisuke acquiesced to the sudden change in subject. “She ran into me. Literally. While trying to sneak away from her personal guards.”

Yūshirō snickered, his pensive mood seemingly evaporating in a second. “And you didn't apologise and run away immediately because –”

At his pointed look, the blond heaved a put-out sigh and continued begrudgingly, “– I was distracted by the tracking spell woven into her clothes.” He must have seen something in Tsuzuki’s face, for he added almost immediately. “I was only _sixty_! And it was shiny.”

“... I don't even know what to say to that,” admitted Tsuzuki. He could see what Yūshirō had meant, now. There was serendipity, and there was… whatever this was. _Sheer dumb luck_ didn’t seem to cover that meeting even remotely adequately.

“If they’d known that their tracking spell was disabled by a sixty-year-old child, the elders would probably collectively have an apoplexy. Maybe I should tell them,” mused Yūshirō, his eyes glittering at the prospect of wracking havoc.

“As if it’d be that easy to get rid of them.” Kisuke muttered, bending down and slinging Tsuzuki’s naginata naoshi over his back. Louder, he added, “Right. Tsuzuki-san, get the bag, please, and take up the rear. Yūshirō-san, you’ll be behind me. It’s time to go.”

~*~*~*~*~

As Kisuke had predicted, the guards were very nearly falling over themselves to bid them welcome once they recognised Yūshirō as the scion of the main branch of the Shihōin Clan. Tsuzuki had the feeling that the feud between Seishin and Yoruichi wasn’t widely advertised outside the clan, for the Fujiwara seemed to be under the impression that Yūshirō was the heir apparent. Wasn’t it previously Katsuo?

“We are in your debt,” he murmured together with Kisuke, the two of them bowing low while Yūshirō sashayed into the house with all the brazen thoughtlessness of a pampered noble child, pretending not to hear the ripple of mutterings that followed their wake.

It being already past dinner time, the kitchens had to specially make another meal for them, which was apparently some kind of complicated matter that involved rousing the head chef while the remaining servants rushed about plying them with sweets to mask the sheer amount of time it took before the first course could be served.

And then, of course, Yūshirō took one bite of it and flung his entire plate at the beautifully-decorated fusuma panels that surrounded the lavish dining room, complaining loudly about the taste. Tsuzuki spotted Kisuke’s hastily aborted twitch, an ingrained reflex to something flying at high speed past his head, but he was willing to believe no one else did. He’d just have to trust Yūshirō knew exactly what he was doing.

Which was, apparently, put on the best act he could of a sullen spoilt brat. And Tsuzuki had to admit that it _worked_. They were ushered in record time into guest lodgings as far away from the Fujiwara residences as possible, and after one too many pointed remarks about the quality of the Fujiwara attendants, were left completely alone, not a single servant to attend to their needs. An actual noble visitor would probably have been fuming at the silent snub.

Yūshirō just winked at the two of them, clasping his hands together and bowing as though he was a street performer who’d just accomplished some great feat.

Kisuke’s lips twitched, but he didn’t make a sound. Instead, he went over to the window and stood next to it for a long time, long enough that Tsuzuki began to fidget. One look at the blond’s face, however, told him that Kisuke was still _thinking_.

Finally, their team leader turned away from the window, and made several rapid hand gestures at Yūshirō, who nodded thoughtfully and made several gestures back. Then they both turned to stare at Tsuzuki, who was looking between them blankly.

He was going to find someone to explain those hand signals to him _the moment he got back_.

But for now, he’d just have to make do. With some mental effort, Tsuzuki visualised his own reiatsu ribbon, and followed it down to Kisuke’s – which was, as expected, fading in and out of his senses like a ghostly imprint. He tugged experimentally on the connection, just to make sure it was still there.

Kisuke winced. He raised an eyebrow, and glanced down pointedly at Tsuzuki’s hand, which was still miming the tugging motion. Tsuzuki scowled. What, he couldn’t help it if he was better with physical motions, and anyway Yūshirō already knew about… whatever this was. Whatever it was supposed to mean. And why was the former shopkeeper looking like he was trying to resist rolling his eyes now?

The tug that came back was sudden, brutal, and nearly made him pitch forwards. Tsuzuki clutched at his chest, where for a moment he was sure his heart was going to burst out of his ribs. What the –

Oh. _Ohhh._

 _Sorry_ , he mouthed, and raised both his hands in surrender. Right, no pulling on the ribbon.

_‘I’ve discussed it with Yūshirō-san, and we both agree that there appears to be an underground basement near the back gardens. When they led us past that section, there was something in the ground stopping our reiatsu from extending further.’_

Tsuzuki couldn’t stop himself from asking, _‘You can get all that from a couple of hand gestures? How does that work, anyway?’_

 _‘There are signals for specific keywords. Obviously, you can’t speak in full sentences, but it’s enough to get the gist of the meaning across.’_ Kisuke pressed a palm to his forehead, slowly, and Tsuzuki didn’t interrupt again. _‘There’s a very suspicious-looking shed situated awkwardly near the south guardhouse, which may be concealing the entrance to the basement level. It’s too far from the gardens and the kitchens to be convenient for storage purposes.’_

When Kisuke didn’t immediately continue, Tsuzuki gave him a nod that he hoped conveyed his understanding of the situation. _‘So that’s where we’re going to check out.’_

He remembered the gatehouse, and could somewhat recall the exact shed, but he couldn’t see how they were supposed to get past all those guards. Still, Kisuke and Yūshirō probably had a plan. If they’d gone so far as to arrange for an inadvertent tour of the whole compound – by being ‘banished’ to the furthest corner of it – and to get rid of any servants, Tsuzuki didn’t think they’d leave this part of the plan up to sheer dumb luck.

Right on cue, there was a muted explosion in the distance, briefly lighting up the sky, and Tsuzuki could hear shouts of alarm.

Ah.

Lesson one in covert operations was, apparently, ‘when in doubt, set a fire as a distraction’.

Kisuke exchanged a look with Yūshirō, just as another set of footsteps hurried past – the guards currently on patrol, Tsuzuki would guess – and then they made for the door. Yūshirō carefully shut it on their way out, giving the appearance that the rooms were still occupied.

Unsurprisingly, they ran into no obstacles on the way, and Yūshirō grinned – sharp, bright and gleeful – when the shed door swung open to reveal roughly hewn stone stairs leading downwards into the dark. He snagged one of the torches that hung on the walls, lit it with a whispered kidō, and then paused to look at Kisuke. The blond gave him a measured nod – Yūshirō had been requesting to be allowed to go first, Tsuzuki realised – and they descended the steps in single file.

Fortunately, the stairs didn’t extend very long – perhaps two floors or so, by Tsuzuki’s estimation, just enough for him to begin to feel as though he was being buried alive. It didn’t help that the steps grew narrower and the ceiling lower, until they were stooping to avoid hitting their heads, and he could no longer see Yūshirō in the lead – just the firelight flickering and casting strange shadows on the walls of the cave. It was a good thing that none of them were claustrophobic.

They’d left a reasonable amount of space in between each person, which was probably the only thing that saved Tsuzuki from running into Kisuke when he’d suddenly stopped. For a moment, all he could see was the blond’s back, his shoulders tense, and then there was abruptly nothing blocking his view, allowing him to finally see that they’d reached some kind of holding area, and there was a door at the other end where the other two had no doubt disappeared through.

Tsuzuki too stepped through the doorway, and he couldn’t say he was actually surprised by the fact that the ‘underground basement’ was a bunker lined with rows of cells on either end.

Yūshirō was standing in front of one of the cells, murmuring something to the occupant, but Tsuzuki couldn’t hear their conversation through the cacophony. People were throwing themselves at the bars – he winced as one of them was blown backwards in a shower of sparks; right, best not to touch the bars, which seemed to be rigged with some kind of electricity – shouting over each other, demanding to know who they were, whether they were here to rescue them, whether they were here to kill the Fujiwaras…

Tsuzuki blinked at that last one. He… hoped not. Surely a clan-wide genocide couldn’t be the solution?

He drifted closer to Yūshirō, trying to catch what they were saying. He didn’t recognise the man trapped in the cell, but he was clearly from the Onmitsukidō, given that he kept addressing Yūshirō as _Unit Captain_.

“– no match for the Captain of the Guard,” he was saying as Tsuzuki drew close enough to overhear them. “Great hulking man the size of Kiganjō, that one. Said he was a retired shinigami senior officer, and looked like it too.”

“Are all of you here?” Yūshirō asked.

“Yeah, few clans are rich enough to afford shinigami slaves, so they got the lot of us at some discounted bulk-purchase price.” A bitter smile twisted the man’s face. “Make for better labourers, apparently, since we’ve got reiatsu and all. Able to work longer, carry greater loads, and less likely to get sick.”

“Why didn’t all of you try to swarm the Captain together, then?” wondered Yūshirō. “Surely no matter how strong he is, he can’t hold off all six of you at the same time?”

The captured shinigami scowled blackly. He lifted up a leg, jerking the hem of his pants up to reveal some sort of band around his ankle. “Reiatsu inhibitors coupled with some sort of... I don’t know, it just stops our legs from working. Can’t even scratch him, no matter how hard we try; they just need to press a button and we go down like a sack of grain.” He shook his head in disgust.

“You said they got _all_ of you. What happened to Chika-san?”

Tsuzuki jumped, finally noticing that Kisuke had, some time during the conversation, come up beside him.

The Onmitsukidō member saluted sharply, tossing Tsuzuki a confused look – so they’d never met before, good, which meant Tsuzuki didn’t need to feel guilty about not remembering his name – but answered promptly, “She’s being kept in the women-only cells, Sir. They’re situated much nearer the living quarters, that’s all I know. We see her during meals, sometimes, but we aren’t allowed to speak to each other.”

Kisuke hummed, tapping Yūshirō on the shoulder. In a quiet voice that Tsuzuki had to lean in to hear, he murmured, “There’s another door all the way at the end, I want to see where that goes.”

“That?” The captive flicked a glance in the direction of the door, though he couldn’t possibly see it through the dirt walls of his cell. “That one leads to the guardhouse. The Captain always comes down that way.”

“And how does the Captain open the cell doors?”

At that question, the other shinigami frowned. “Not sure, Sir. Somehow the cell door just swings open when he touches them, but if any of us touches the bars we get electrocuted.”

The blond looked supremely satisfied at that information, as though he’d been expecting to hear something like that. “If we can get into the Captain’s office, we can probably find all the physical records, then.”

“You don’t think they burnt all the records?” asked Tsuzuki.

The blond shook his head slowly, almost gingerly. “No, not if they’re keeping abducted shinigami in here. They’ll at least have to know which squads they’re from to prevent them from being recognised by visitors.” His mouth twisted wryly. “To be perfectly honest, we hadn’t been expecting them to keep _so many_ people in here. We can’t possibly break all of them out quietly, but if we leave any of them behind they’re going to set the guards onto us.”

It was starting to look more and more like they were going to have to fight their way out.

Kisuke lowered his voice into something even more inaudible, half-turning away from the cell so that his lips couldn’t be read. “If we can even get them out on our own, that is.” He scuffed a sandal in the dirt, tapping his foot to indicate something Tsuzuki had to squint to see –

There was a seal inscribed into the edge of the cell bars, barely visible, and Tsuzuki would be willing to bet money that it was the same seal found on all those folders. Which meant that this Captain of the Guard was keyed into that seal, which meant – ah.

“I don’t suppose we could ask him _nicely_ to unlock everything for us?”

Kisuke opened his mouth to speak, probably to say something sarcastic in response, but at that exact moment the far door slammed open like a crash of cymbals against the wall, and a voice thundered, “Shut your fat mouths or I’ll shut them for you!”

Everyone in the cells shrank back instinctively, as though the fear was already burnt into their bones – even the Onmitsukidō officer, though he moved to step forward in defiance almost immediately.

There was nowhere to hide, no way to conceal themselves.

The Captain’s eyes narrowed immediately at the sight of three intruders. “I thought that story you were selling smelled fishy – so _this_ is what you Shihōin dogs are really here for.” His sneer transformed into a savage grin, his eyes darting almost imperceptibly between them, as though weighing up who was the biggest threat amongst them. “Well, if you want to see your friends so bad, you can have a cell next to them!”

Then he _charged_.

It wasn’t even a great shock that he went straight for Tsuzuki first. The Captain clearly had no idea who Kisuke really was, but amongst the three of them – an adult shinigami, the younger brother of the Goddess of Flash and a known shinigami officer himself, and a teenager who behaved as though he was freshly dragged up from the slums – it was obvious who seemed to be the easiest to take hostage.

A pity that things weren’t as they seem.

Tsuzuki side-stepped the initial charge at the last moment, when it was too late for the Captain to change direction, and caught the naginata naoshi Kisuke tossed at his head with one hand. He spared a single glance at the other two – Kisuke almost at the door to the gatehouse, Yūshirō backing away to the entrance they’d come in by – most of his attention on the man in front of him, who was shaking his head as though he were a wild beast wondering why his prey had vanished.

“We’ll leave this up to you, then, Tsuzuki-san!”

In the corner of his eye, Tsuzuki could see the Onmitsukidō member taking a step back, his mouth dropping open, but the bulk of his attention was split between the way the Captain was now eyeing him warily and the odd sensation of goosebumps snaking over his skin in a distinct pattern, as though something tangible was slipping away from him –

_Ah._

It took him a moment to recognise the edges of Kisuke’s reiatsu, now that it wasn’t tightly meshed with his own, and yet another to comprehend what was going on. Tsuzuki had assumed, rather naïvely now that he actually thought about it, that the reiatsu ribbon was like an extra appendage or something – but of course it wasn’t. Reiatsu was _everywhere_ , constantly in motion like a fluid second skin, and he was a fool for thinking he could tie a bit of his reiatsu to Kisuke’s like he was tying a balloon to a string. No, the original threads he’d used had long scattered, and what Kisuke was doing right now felt like someone carefully trying to peel off an overenthusiastic giant leech clinging to their skin.

No wonder Yūshirō had been giving them such strange looks earlier.

He ducked under an incoming blow automatically, and in a flash his attention zinged back to his opponent. ‘Hulk of a man’ had been an apt descriptor, Tsuzuki acknowledged in the recesses of his mind, for the Captain was easily at least two metres tall, with big bulging muscles and a scar slashed across one cheek. There was a scabbard belted to his side, probably holding his zanpakutō.

He was reaching for it, now, drawing out something that looked like any ordinary katana. Tsuzuki chose to side-step the initial lunge instead of parrying, examining his opponent with narrowed eyes. There was something very strange about those movements –

Yes, it was exactly as he thought. The Captain fought as though he was only concerned with pummelling an opponent into submission, instead of using the weapon as an extension of himself. It was slight, likely a lifetime’s worth of uncorrected bad habits, but the end result was that he kept over-extending himself with the sword. Not enough for a normal opponent to take notice, perhaps, but against someone both faster and more agile than himself, it might as well have been a giant neon sign.

The Captain was clearly getting frustrated with the way he just couldn’t seem to _hit_ Tsuzuki, who was weaving in and out of his range, deflecting the tip of the sword with his own polearm whenever it came too close for comfort. With a guttural growl, the zanpakutō glowed and expanded, turning into a two-handed broadsword that took up nearly all the space in the narrow corridor between the cells.

“Not so brave any more, are you now?” he laughed, shaking the massive weapon at Tsuzuki.

As he charged once more, Tsuzuki noted two things. One, the Captain was like the archetypical schoolyard bully he’d grown sick of by the age of fifteen, drunk on his over-inflated arrogance. He might have turned out like that, too, if he hadn’t _constantly_ had his ass handed to him by people vastly more powerful than him over the years. Kind of hard to keep up an inflated ego when he kept losing.

Two, the man was now a hair slower than before, likely due to the sheer weight of that monstrosity he was slinging around. Probably a minor compensation for the amplification in power – the very _ground_ shook with every step he took, now, but a compensation he really couldn’t have afforded with how out-matched he was.

It was obvious to Tsuzuki that shikai or not, he was never going to win. Now, the problem was, how was he going to get his opponent to see that?

“Stand and fight like a man, you cowardly monkey!”

Tsuzuki didn’t bother dignifying that frankly pathetic taunt with a verbal response. Instead of dancing just out of the Captain’s reach, this time he chose to step _forwards_ into the swing, ducking sideways such that the sword passed harmlessly above his head in the other direction. Using his momentum, he kept running, until he was racing sideways, using the bars as footholds, his head level with the Captain.

The other man drew his broadsword back, momentarily stunned, and Tsuzuki neatly executed a flip off the bars – Suì-Fēng would have had his head if she’d seen that unnecessarily flashy move, but Kisuke would probably have patted his head and muttered something about psychological battles – and landed in a crouch directly on top of the blunt edge of the broadsword.

Instead of giving up like a normal person would at this clear show of difference in their abilities, his opponent became even _more_ incensed, if it was possible, vulgarities spewing from his mouth as he swung his broadsword upwards in a fruitless attempt to land a blow.

Tsuzuki wanted to swear back at him. He wasn’t about to open his mouth and _ask_ the Captain to unlock the doors; no, something of that calibre was more Kisuke’s forte than his own, but usually kicking someone’s ass made them see things his way.

Usually.

This guy just had to be the exception to everything. Tsuzuki spun around and under the next swing, narrowly avoiding crashing into the electrified bars. The Captain attempted to execute the same turn to follow him, but he didn’t seem to have accounted for the rapid shift in centre of gravity – he leaned back, trying to maintain his balance, and his head bounced off the metal bars behind him with a deafening _clang_.

He dropped like a stone.

Tsuzuki stood there, polearm still raised uselessly, and _stared_.

Then, just to make sure the other man wasn’t faking it – though he highly doubted it by this point in time – he gingerly prodded one meaty arm with the blunt edge of the naginata naoshi.

No response.

Well.

He sighed, kicking the zanpakutō down the corridor, and used the broad side of his blade to knock the Captain’s hand into the bars of the nearest cell. Its occupant shrank backwards, until all Tsuzuki could see of him was a pair of eyes glinting off the firelight in the depths of the cell.

Nothing happened.

“Don’t tell me,” Tsuzuki heaved a long sigh, standing up, “you actually need to be awake to unlock this thing?”

Luckily, he was saved from the awkwardness by a commotion at the door. Tsuzuki spun around, taking two steps forwards, just in time to see a couple more guards come bursting through the door. They stopped dead in their tracks at the sight that greeted them, eyes flickering fearfully between the ground – no, their fallen captain – and Tsuzuki. The teenager exhaled in exasperation, stepping _hard_ onto the blade of the polearm he’d dropped, and flipped the handle into his waiting hand with a smooth flick.

At least this batch was intelligent enough to surrender immediately. Maybe one of them would be able to unlock the cells?

Before he could decide on his next move, the rhythmic strike of something fleshy against stone steps made him look up again, just as Kisuke came wandering back down the stairs. He was holding one of those folders with one hand – _and it was open_ , Tsuzuki noted with a jolt, Kisuke’s nose buried in it - dragging someone behind him with his other hand.

The surrendered guards shifted uneasily at the sight of the newcomer, defeat writ in the stoop of their shoulders. None of them looked like they wanted to continue resisting.

The blond raised his head briefly, gaze flickering over the line of guards kneeling on the floor, to the unconscious Captain, and finally to Tsuzuki himself. Tsuzuki thought he might have detected a bit of approval in his eyes, but Kisuke’s voice was as nonchalant as ever as he shoved the man he’d been dragging against the nearest cell door.

“Unlock them, please, Vice-Captain-san.”

Any token resistance had gone out of the man the moment he saw his Captain defeated, and soon they were looking at perhaps twenty-odd freed prisoners, six guards, the Vice-Captain and the unconscious Captain.

How were they going to get all these people out without any further incidents?

The five men standing in a group in the corner, looking between Kisuke and Tsuzuki as though patiently awaiting further instructions, were clearly the ones they’d come to rescue in the first place. They were also the only former prisoners who looked completely at ease with the whole situation; the rest of the men looked torn between kicking their captors, running away as fast as they could, and torching the whole place. It was unlikely that seven of them would be enough to corral all these people _and_ keep an eye on all the surrendered guards at the same time.

And where had Yūshirō gone, anyway?

On his part, Kisuke didn’t look concerned at all. He drifted over to speak very briefly with the Onmitsukidō members, who saluted him and immediately set about getting the guards to follow them through the door leading to the shed. Two of them were leading the way, probably to cordon off the escape at the top, while the remaining two brought up the rear. The last one, the man whom they’d been conversing with before all this happened, turned to the Vice-Captain.

“Tsuzuki-san, if you would?”

Tsuzuki blinked, and then followed Kisuke’s arm to see he was pointing at the unconscious man on the ground. Bright beams of light shot out from Kisuke’s fingers, trussing him up neatly. With a twitch of his index finger, Kisuke gestured at the departing group. Apparently, he was to join them, while Kisuke would take the prisoners up to the guardhouse.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Tsuzuki muttered, but moved to haul the Captain over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Just as his appearance had suggested, the man was the weight of a _boulder_ , all densely-packed muscle and seemingly nothing else.

Though, he had to admit it was a decent tactic – separate the two groups, making sure a fight wasn’t going to break out in the narrow confinements of the stairs – but he wasn’t sure how it was going to get them all out of the Fujiwara compound safely. Still, Kisuke hadn’t been worried – though he could have been just maintaining his poker face for all Tsuzuki knew – and he was nearing the top of the stairs. He supposed he’ll just have to trust Kisuke had a plan.

“Well, looks like that’s the last of you, then.”

Wait.

Tsuzuki did a double-take at the voice that just came floating down from the entrance, and nearly tripped backwards. He shot out a hand to catch himself before he fell, squinting into the gloom. Was that –

“Yoruichi-nee-sama?”

Yoruichi waved her lit torch in his face, nearly blinding him, but even with his squint there was no mistaking the maniacal grin stretching across her face. “Yoohoo, Tsuzuki- _chan_.”

~*~*~*~*~

“What.” Tsuzuki’s voice was flat.

Sitting beside him, Yūshirō shook his head, looking only slightly less overwhelmed by the scene playing out before them. He’d gone to check out the women’s cells, apparently, and hadn’t known any more than Tsuzuki did. The two of them were ensconced in a corner, out of the way but with a perfect view of the chaos that was going on.

A short way away from them were the Vice-Captain and the Captain of the guard, finally awake at last, the two of them sullenly unlocking every single sealed folder – both the mountain packed away into Yūshirō’s bag and the new ones Kisuke had liberated from the Captain’s office.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Fujiwara compound was in complete disarray. Surrendered – and the odd subdued – guards were kept in a group, watched over by the Onmitsukidō. The former prisoners were being… interviewed, Tsuzuki supposed, by several others. If he strained his ears, he could just barely make out what they were saying – things about their possessions and if they needed help getting back to wherever they’d come from.

He shook his head. It was _exceedingly_ odd to hear these questions coming from a child Suì-Fēng, of all people, her voice high and clear, with a note of sympathy to their plight.

His gaze travelled the other way, where Yoruichi was standing, her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t look impressed with whatever the Fujiwara clan head seemed to be telling her, and the man kept bowing in apology.

“Apparently, Yoruichi-san decided to err on the side of caution.” Kisuke flopped down beside them, idly picking up one of the unlocked folders to flip through. “She started assembling a strike team several hours after we left, and it seems like my second butterfly message was enough incentive for her to send out the cavalry, on the off-chance we’d run into more trouble than expected.”

He paused, just a tiny bit, and Tsuzuki almost didn’t register the odd tone of his voice, as though Kisuke had to _work_ to keep his tone as light as before. “You may want to avoid the Storeroom for a bit; one of the men you rescued was Kotone-san’s father, and he’s _very_ impressed with how you faced the Captain’s shikai and got off without a scratch.” Casually, almost like an afterthought, he handed the file he’d been reading over to Tsuzuki.

Yukimaru’s face stared out at him in sharp, decisive slashes of charcoal, and for a moment Tsuzuki couldn’t breathe, could barely read the words scribbled beneath the horrifyingly life-like sketch – _latent reiatsu_ and _potential recruit_ jumping out at him from the page.

‘ _Looks like we got to it just in time._ ’


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your enemies learn from their past mistakes and stop underestimating you...
> 
> ["By the gods, Kisuke, are you trying to get _stabbed_ in your sleep?"]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extrapolating from canon [e.g. Rukia = 150, Ichigo = 15], a shinigami ages 10 times slower than a human until the end of puberty, but I'm choosing to hypothesise that their intellectual development is a little faster than physical growth - otherwise the parents will have to deal with a toddler for twenty years (and a teenager for eighty years), and that's just horrible.

“Kisuke-san, what –”

Tsuzuki paused, one foot still raised over the threshold, for a moment not comprehending what his senses were telling him. He suddenly wished that he hadn’t slammed the door open quite so hard.

In his defence, however, he’d almost never seen Urahara Kisuke asleep before.

And the blond was definitely asleep, even if he was sprawled haphazardly, half draped across the low table and half on the tatami mats, the sheaf of papers trapped under his head stirring gently in time with the slow rise and fall of his chest. Tsuzuki winced, a phantom crick starting up in his neck at the mere sight of the awkward angle. Kisuke must have passed out, somehow, though he couldn’t tell _how_. He’d witnessed the former shopkeeper handle far worse during the War, work day-and-night for entire _weeks_ straight both in and out of the laboratory, planning for every possible contingency, because nobody could survive on a diet of hope alone.

They called Ichigo the face of the Resistance, the poster child with a never-say-die attitude to match his fiery hair, but Tsuzuki knew better. The War would have been long over if Kisuke hadn’t been there, pulling just one more miracle out from his _ass_ every time they were on the verge of giving up.

Throughout the four years of the War, he’d known Kisuke to sleep exactly three times.

The first time came about two years into the War, after what was left of the Resistance had already moved into Urahara Shōten. Ichigo had wearily dragged himself into bed – and promptly tripped over a body in the dark. He’d forever deny that he was taken down in less than six moves, Kisuke’s fingers digging into his jugular vein before the blond very belatedly recognised the reiatsu fluttering in panic under his fingertips. Apparently, they’d both forgotten in their exhaustion that Kisuke had ceded his bedroom to Ichigo during the shuffle, since the former shopkeeper rarely used it anyway.

The second time, he’d been unconscious for most of it – some kind of coordinated ambush, he was told, but Ichigo didn’t have any clear recollection of it. What was important was that Aizen had deigned to participate in this skirmish, and nobody in the Resistance had expected to lose their primary trump card so early on. They still fought, of course they did, but it seemed to be a decisive loss on their part until Urahara Kisuke appeared out of nowhere, marched right up to Aizen, and spoke to him.

Renji, who had been unfortunately close enough to overhear their conversation, swore on the gods that the only thing Kisuke had said was, “Aizen-san, you are aware of what my bankai is.”

Aizen had then, by all accounts, calmly opened a Garganta and _left_.

 _Fled_ , claimed Hisagi, but he’d also been six bottles of sake deep under, so Ichigo had some doubts about his veracity.

Exactly _what_ said bankai actually entailed was still a mystery, though. Apparently everyone was chivvied out of the immediate area for fear of friendly fire, which implied some kind of extensive area-of-effect ability. The few who did know what it was – Yoruichi, Tessai, and for some strange reason Ōmaeda – weren’t talking. The only thing anyone could be certain of was its compensation, an immense burst of boundless energy that had fuelled a maniacal inventing spree for weeks afterwards, and a devastating crash at the end that had left Kisuke bedridden for nearly a month.

Their only reprieve was that Aizen hadn’t been inclined to attack for those two months. Rumour was, most of his army either perished or just up and quit on him.

The third time occurred four months after the Visoreds’ deaths, when Yoruichi physically hauled Kisuke out of wherever he’d been hiding in the bowels of Urahara Shōten, shoved him bodily into bed, and snarled at Ichigo to keep him there or die trying.

Ichigo obeyed out of sheer self-preservation, because she didn’t specify _whose_ death was preferred.

Just a two-day mission _shouldn’t_ have been enough to knock him out, not unless Tsuzuki was missing something.

“ _What are you doing here?_ ”

He jumped at the sound of the sibilant hiss behind him, both hands raising in reflex even as he whipped his head around.

Yoruichi was standing in the corridor, feet apart, arms folded over her chest. Her eyes gleamed a vicious gold in the flickering candlelight, the pupils so narrow they might as well be slits.

He opened his mouth, trying to figure out a neutral way of phrasing _I wanted to ask him what the Council meeting later was all about_ without incurring more of her wrath. Before he could say anything, however, she gave a short sharp jerk of head down the corridor. Taking the hint, Tsuzuki gently slid the door to Kisuke’s room closed and padded over to her room instead.

“Shouldn’t we… move him into a more comfortable position?” he ventured at last.

Yoruichi huffed out a breath, somewhere between a sigh and an exasperated laugh, and plopped herself down onto the tatami mats lining the floor. Her eyes had gone back to their usual shade of warm honey, and he decided to take that as an acknowledgement of his implicit apology. “If you can manage that without waking him up in the process, be my guest.” A rueful smirk flitted across her face, a jarring image when juxtaposed against the child-like cast of her features. “An ache in the neck is much easier to heal than a concussion.”

“… a concussion,” repeated Tsuzuki slowly. _What concussion?_ he wanted to ask, but bit the question back at the last moment.

The way Kisuke, who almost never passed up a chance to lecture at length about reiatsu theory, remaining uncharacteristically quiet while Yūshirō explained those butterflies to Tsuzuki. The way he kept regressing to mannerisms he didn’t yet develop in this time, as though he was having trouble maintaining his mask. The way he ended up changing the subject because he couldn’t talk his way out of Yūshirō’s suspicions – so brilliantly that Tsuzuki himself didn’t realise he was being used as a distraction until now. The way he always tried to turn his entire body, when just moving his head would have sufficed, and stopped himself from rolling his eyes every single time. The way he bit back what must have been a wince of pain that one time he shook his head, back when they were in that underground prison.

A concussion.

Of course.

How in the world did he miss that?

Yoruichi must have read the question from his expression, for she gave an inelegant snort and shook her head. “Why am I not surprised? Naturally, he wouldn’t have thought to mention it even if he was barely able to keep his eyes open.”

At least she didn’t look angry at him anymore, but that didn’t help the way Tsuzuki’s stomach turned over. “He shouldn’t have needed to mention it. I should have _noticed_ ; all the signs were right there.” A concussion. That must have happened at the shinigami outpost, when they fought that intruder. The awkward behaviour, now that he knew what to look for, had started almost immediately after they got out safely.

Why didn’t he think to ask Kisuke if he was okay after being tossed into the wall so hard he couldn’t even get up immediately?

“Stop that.” Yoruichi gave him a hard thwap on the head, enough that Tsuzuki nearly fell over. “Self-recrimination helps nobody.”

He rubbed the top of his head, accepting her rebuke, but something still didn’t make sense. “I don’t understand,” Tsuzuki finally gave voice to his confusion. “I’ve seen Kisuke-san get thrown _through_ several buildings, and then get up after that and keep fighting. How did he get a concussion from a wall?”

Yoruichi gazed at him unblinkingly for a long time, long enough that Tsuzuki was starting to think he had accidentally triggered something unknowingly, before she blew out a long breath.

“You’ve been using his bedroom during the War, so you’re aware that he can function without sleep, yes?”

Tsuzuki blinked rapidly at that information. “I just – I thought he slept in his lab, or something.” It was true that he’d only seen Kisuke sleep thrice, but it couldn’t – how in the world – three times in _four years_?

Yoruichi gave a bark of laughter, probably at the look on his face. “You think he accomplishes what he does by spending a quarter of the day unconscious, like the rest of us do?”

“Well…” Tsuzuki hesitated, scratching his head. The thing was, feats like recreating the Shiba cannon from scratch with no blueprints seemed impossible, whether it was done in sixty hours or seventy-two. He’d grown up witnessing Kisuke’s ability to perform miracles on the fly; it had never occurred to him to consider whether or not the man actually slept.

He said as much to Yoruichi, who scowled, though her ire didn’t seem to be directed at him this time. “I’ve been telling him for centuries that he shouldn’t live up to people’s expectations all the damned time, because then they get used to it, and then they get complacent. They end up thinking he can always make things _happen_ , even if in reality he’s already at his limit and on the verge of collapse.”

“But…” Tsuzuki hesitated, and then capitulated at the impatient look Yoruichi shot him. “But it’s just _not possible_ to stop sleeping altogether!” Faint memories of lectures surfaced in his mind, from a high school education a lifetime ago – heh, literally, and maybe _he_ needed sleep too, if he was laughing at his own puns inside his own head – whose contents he no longer recalled in exact detail, but which left him with the distinct impression that sleep was a biological necessity for human brains to function.

Well. Even if ‘human’ was a pretty debatable term right now.

Yoruichi raised an eyebrow slowly. “Tsuzuki. You live in a world populated by immortals who kill demons for a living, regularly stand around posturing in mid-air, get back up after being completely bisected… and you still think there’s such a thing as the _impossible_?”

She had a point, but still – “We still need air, and water, and food – sleep isn’t that different. Shinigami can still get liver damage from drinking too much, just like a Transient World human can, so why not brain damage from a lack of sleep?” Tsuzuki frowned, trying to think of exceptions. “Mayuri might not have needed his organs, but I really don’t think Kisuke-san removed his own _brain_.” At the very least, he was quite sure that the blond was the complete _opposite_ of ‘lacking a brain’.

Yoruichi stared at him, and then snorted loudly. “No, trust me, organic modification’s not his thing.” She was still watching him with that strange look on her face when she continued, “Though, Mayuri used to be Kisuke’s Third Seat, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they _did_ discuss that at some point in time, or if Kisuke’d encouraged him to pursue his interests. He always took the ‘establish some sort of common ground with your senior seated officers’ part of the captain’s rulebook really seriously.”

The Gotei handed out actual captain’s rulebooks. Tsuzuki shook his head. Of course they did, sometimes he wondered if all organisations ran on bureaucracy as fuel. But that wasn’t important. What was important was – “So how does Kisuke-san do it, then?”

“Meditation,” Yoruichi replied promptly, and then frowned slightly. “Well, something like that. I was far too lost when he tried to explain all the technical details, but there was definitely something about being able to manipulate all the necessary processes without needing to be unconscious first, which apparently speeds up the whole thing _and_ can be done while performing mindless rote tasks.”

“Huh.” Tsuzuki digested this new information, and then asked, “So is it not working or something?”

“More like he didn’t even get the scant amount of time needed to meditate in the past few months,” Yoruichi muttered drily, and then began ticking off her fingers. “Let’s see… first he had to recreate that poison for the cover story, _while_ still recovering from that bout of reiatsu exhaustion, _while_ simultaneously fending off Seishin’s suspicions and spies, with a minor detour to upgrade his lab to get it up to the standards he’s used to working with. Then he’s been going through all the records for the past year to see if he could figure out why we were sent back to this particular point in time, beginning discreet investigations into Aizen’s background and current actions, pulling up all the material on soul theory – nothing useful on this front, by the way, he thinks the authors were treating the topic as largely academic with little to no scientific evidence to back up their claims, so we’re flying completely blind when it comes to you and Yukimaru – handling his usual Detention Unit duties, and running all the Class S missions that require his level of expertise.” She scowled. “And believe me, there was really no one else I could have assigned to those two missions, even knowing there’s an inherent risk in sending him out when he’s already exhausted.”

“He let his guard down,” whispered Tsuzuki in horrified realisation, seeing in his mind’s eye Kisuke look away from the downed intruder, his grasp loosening on her throat. “I don’t – I think he took that hit cold, without any defences.”

He didn’t need Yoruichi’s grim nod to tell him what he already knew. Reiatsu was _crucial_ during any proper shinigami fight – to invoke shikai or bankai, to achieve speeds greater than sound, to augment muscles for offence, to cushion a blow for defence. Natural resilience didn’t do much when it came up against naturally-enhanced strength, after all. Being thrown into a building, with your reiatsu soaking up most of the resultant damage, was a very different matter from being hit with a reiatsu-enhanced kick while completely unprepared.

Kisuke was lucky that the difference in their power levels was great enough that he came out of it with only a mild concussion. If it had been Aizen…

Well, to be honest, if it had been Aizen, all three of them would be dead by now with no one the wiser. Tsuzuki’s stomach turned over at that thought, and he forced himself to think of something else, anything else.

“That’s why he needs so long to recover each time, isn’t it.” It wasn’t a question, and Tsuzuki didn’t wait for Yoruichi’s nod of confirmation before he continued, “but the council meeting’s in four hours – that’s nowhere near enough time.”

Yoruichi sighed, the expression alien on her child-like face. Tsuzuki looked at her, really looked, and maybe he didn’t see much of a difference in Kisuke’s appearance – the blond looked a little younger, but that was it – but Yoruichi looked very different from the woman he’d been used to, and it wasn’t just the short hair throwing him for a loop. She didn’t have the stress lines – not that he’d dare to tell her that to her face – her older self had, nor the scars on her left bicep, and there was a lingering of baby fat in her rounded features that she must have lost in the next century.

Only her eyes belied what they’d gone through, and only when she wasn’t bothering to mask it, like now.

“Kisuke’s probably already got a plan in mind,” she interrupted his musings, dragging his mind back to the present. “Though I don’t know what exactly his game plan is, I’ve got a few ideas, especially after I’ve had a chance to glance through all those contracts he asked me to get my hands on. There’s a couple of _very interesting_ precedents that he could capitalise on, but of course it all depends on how Seishin’s going to play his hand. I hate to say it, but Seishin’s got the upper hand right now, and it’s going to take Kisuke everything he’s got to flip the tables on that man when he’s so exhausted he’s on the verge of collapsing.”

“Yeah, about that…” Tsuzuki trailed off at the dark look on Yoruichi’s face, but ploughed on regardless. “What do the two of you have against Seishin, anyway?”

Yoruichi chewed on the inside of her cheek for a moment, but her face was otherwise blank. “Not my story to tell,” she finally said, rather more brusquely than before, and she must have noticed for her next words were in a gentler tone. “It’ll probably all come up at the council meeting anyway; you’ll find out then. Suffice to say that being mentored by Seishin is _really_ the worst possible outcome, so Kisuke’s going to do his best to win this custody battle.”

“Custody battle?” repeated Tsuzuki, slowly. “What _exactly_ is this wakashūdo thing about?” He just _knew_ it, those modern-day books were leaving things out.

Yoruichi blinked at him in bemusement, and then shook her head. “Right. Of course, you wouldn’t know.” She huffed out a breath, and Tsuzuki could see her settling into lecture mode. “Wakashūdo, colloquially known as a _brotherhood contract_ , is a binding contract between an older male warrior and a young warrior-in-training. Each mentor can only have one student at any time, and each youth only one mentor. In its ideal form, wakashūdo is meant to foster the well-being of the student, under the undivided supervision of a single mentor.” She broke off.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” offered Tsuzuki tentatively, and drew back slightly at the disgusted look Yoruichi shot him.

“Yes, in theory,” she conceded, and then barrelled on, “but that is assuming, of course, that the mentor is perfectly well-rounded in all the possible skills and genuinely has no ulterior motive beyond seeing to the betterment of the student in question – ah, I see that you’re beginning to see the issues with it now. Bluntly put, if your mentor specialises only in one or two skills, if your mentor wants to mould you in a certain manner, if your mentor _doesn’t_ have your best interests in mind – no one else can interfere, because your mentor has the _final say_ in every single matter when it comes to you. And whatever his numerous faults are, Kisuke at the very least would never knowingly hurt you.”

“Er,” Tsuzuki said, because he could think of several examples to the contrary just off the top of his head.

Yoruichi rolled her eyes. “Fine. Let me rephrase that – Kisuke wouldn’t knowingly hurt you, not unless he has no other choice, and you can trust that he would have considered every other possible avenue first.”

Tsuzuki considered that qualification, and then gave a reluctant nod to concede her point. Kisuke’s training methods might have been brutal, and some may consider them unnecessarily dangerous, but Tsuzuki couldn’t deny that they’d _worked_. And maybe Kisuke had tried to kill him, once or twice, but he was still alive, so the former shopkeeper mustn’t have been trying very hard.

He wondered what it said about his life when more than half of all his friends had, at some point in time, tried to kill him.

Speaking of which…

“Is Yukimaru going to be okay?”

“Yes.” Yoruichi didn’t even blink at his non-sequitur, which was another ability Tsuzuki (secretly) envied. There was no way she could have anticipated all of his out-of-the-blue questions, not like their mutual friend could, and yet she didn’t show the slightest bit of hesitation each time. He would have loved to have even half of her aplomb. “We were lucky: we caught it early, before the file’s contents were disseminated. No one other than the Captain of the Guard has even seen it yet, much less be aware of Yukimaru’s existence, and subtle enquiries indicate he thinks the informant was exaggerating. Because, really – some Rukongai kid taking down a rampaging bear all by himself without even a scratch?” She gave an unladylike snort of laughter. “If I didn’t know Yukimaru, I wouldn’t have believed it myself.”

“And they wouldn’t try to investigate?” Tsuzuki asked, because he too knew Yukimaru. “What about the next time something like this happens again?”

Yoruichi waved a hand carelessly in the air. “Oh, don’t worry about that. The Fujiwara as a clan has sworn fealty to the Shihōin, in exchange for us very kindly not reporting their crimes to Seireitei. Any such report in the future will either come to me, as the head of the Onmitsukidō, or to Kisuke, as the head of the Detention Corps. And we’d just make it –” she wriggled the fingers of that hand “– disappear.”

“How severe are those crimes?” Tsuzuki asked, because it was easier than dwelling on the fact that the _Fujiwara_ – the ones whom every school child in Japan recognised as the leaders, the rulers, the _kings_ of ancient Japan – was now subordinate to another. It was like waking up one day to find that the sun now rose in the west, and his mind had been boggled enough for one day.

“Hmm…” Yoruichi tapped her lower lip slowly, tilting her head to the side like an inquisitive cat. “For the mass illegal immigration alone, the fine would probably be at least a million kan – it’s one of the Soul King’s mandates, and to break those is considered an act of treason. Then, for the unreasonable detainment of shinigami, particularly members of another noble clan, and _especially_ subordinates of one of the Five Great Noble Houses… by aristocracy law, it would be up to the head of the clan wronged – which would be me, by the way – to determine the exact punishment. General precedent would advise that I detain six Fujiwaras of equivalent status to ours, and subject them to the same treatment our own members received. But since the Fujiwaras are civilians, such harsh conditions might actually kill them – a fact that they were no doubt aware of.”

Tsuzuki frowned. “But if they knew all this already, then why did they do it? Surely they must have known that you would have come for the six of them?” It seemed kind of idiotic to him.

“Honestly?” Yoruichi sighed. “Probably a combination of factors. Most civilians are unaware of what the upper echelons of shinigami are like – there are only thirteen captains, thirteen lieutenants, and a handful of command-level senior seated officers, but hundreds of unseated shinigami. They see the regular shinigami, and think that’s all there is to shinigami. To put it simply, never in their wildest dreams could the Fujiwara have imagined that three people – two of them not even into adulthood – are more than a match for their little army of regular shinigami.”

“And secondly – you’re aware that they’re an Ascended clan, right? A clan that gained nobility status simply because they were nobles in their mortal lives,” she clarified when Tsuzuki answered in the negative. “They’ve spent so long at the top of the food chain, doing whatever they want and answering to no one, that they’ve carried this attitude with them into the afterlife.” She shook her head, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “They flout the rules for their own gain and convenience, because they’ve never been put in a situation where they actually have to face the consequences for their own actions before.”

Tsuzuki frowned, because she sounded like she wasn’t just talking about an isolated incident – “They’ve done something like this before?”

“Nothing that would incur a severe penalty, or more likely, we’ve just never managed to successfully catch them doing anything on this scale.” Yoruichi scrubbed a hand through her hair, and then shot it a supremely annoyed look when she ran out of hair. “At least, not in our previous lifetime. I wonder what else we’ve managed to miss last time,” she trailed off, but it sounded like she was talking to herself more than anything.

“My, my… having a clandestine rendezvous without me?”

Tsuzuki flinched at the voice coming from directly behind him, violently, and barely managed to suppress his jump into a full-body shudder instead. He scowled at Yoruichi, who wasn’t even trying to hide her grin. As usual, she didn’t look the slightest bit ruffled by the abrupt interruption – but on the other hand, _she_ was seated facing the door.

“I can see that our first order of business would be to do something about your abysmal reiatsu-sensing abilities, Tsuzuki-san.”

“Oh?” Yoruichi cocked her head to the side, eyebrows flying up. “You’re so confident that your plan will succeed, then?”

“Oh, yes,” Kisuke said, turning away from them to slide the door panel shut. “I’ll make them an offer they won’t be able to refuse.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Sitting in the council chamber was giving Tsuzuki a horrible sense of déjà vu. Didn’t he _just_ face the full council not even six months ago? And just like the previous time, there was barely a few hours’ notice, but at least the spotlight wouldn’t be focused on him this time. Still, he couldn’t help being a little concerned, because –

“They’re late.”

Several of the elders glanced amongst each other, but none of them spoke up against Seishin’s proclamation. No, it definitely wasn’t a _coincidence_ that the council meeting had been arranged for a mere six hours after they’d gotten back from the Fujiwara compound, as though _someone_ – oh, who was he kidding – as though Seishin was taking full advantage of the timing. Tsuzuki gritted his teeth, and only Yūshirō’s eyes narrowing in warning at him from across the room made him keep his mouth shut.

Right. Trust that Yoruichi and Kisuke knew what they were doing.

Right on cue, the doors to the council chamber flew open, and Tsuzuki couldn’t stop the widening of his eyes when Yoruichi walked in – at least, he thought it was Yoruichi, since he couldn’t actually see her face behind that mountain of papers in her arms – followed closely by Kisuke.

Tsuzuki _stared_.

He did know, intellectually, that the blond had to have something in his closet that wasn’t a Gotei uniform or a _samue_ , but given that not thirty minutes ago the man had looked like some new species of fuzzy raccoon… well, he’d no idea how they managed to get rid of the dark circles beneath his eyes or the pallor of his skin, but it was working. Instead of the loose cotton _samue_ he favoured, Kisuke was dressed in a fitted kimono in a muted green, the obi tied properly for once around his waist, and even to Tsuzuki’s uneducated eye it was obviously some kind of formalwear.

Seishin’s eyes narrowed as Kisuke strode past him, making his way unhurriedly into the room as though unconcerned by all the eyes focused on him. He came to a stop in the centre of the room, right in the middle of the raised semi-circular dais running the length of the chamber, where the councillors were seated. “Greetings, honoured elders of this noble clan.”

Seishin paced measured steps forwards, his hands clasped behind his back, until he too was right in front of the elders, though he was half-turned to face Kisuke. “Urahara-san, one cannot help but muse whether, given your propensities for treating time as an inconvenience at best, this tardiness is a trait you intend to pass on to the heir of our esteemed clan.”

Kisuke pressed a hand to his breast, bowing slightly in apology. “I beg your pardon, Seishin-dono. Unfortunately, there was a little…. _incident_ involving several of our guests, which mandated my personal attendance. I crave your honourable elders’ indulgence on the matter, but surely Seishin-dono, as a veteran of the Executive Militia, should understand that duty often causes times and schedules to become quite the inconvenience sometimes.”

Sitting next to Yūshirō at the far end of the dais, behind Seishin’s back, Tsuzuki saw the faintest shadow of a smile touch the corner of Yoruichi’s mouth.

Seishin’s tone iced over slightly – insult received, loud and clear – as he responded, “Indeed, Urahara-san. We have no doubt that the incident in question was most deftly managed by your capable self, but however valid your reasons for your considerable lack of alacrity, we are sure that you will forgive us if we deem the careful tutelage of one as important as the future head of our noble clan to be a matter of far greater gravity.” He waited, until Kisuke gave a slight incline of his head, before continuing, “While the Onmitsukidō is undoubtedly all the richer to be graced with your presence and ability, we humble elders must needst be far more concerned about this division of focus, which your dual duty as both a Corps Commander and as a mentor must unfortunately necessitate.”

Kisuke’s back was to Tsuzuki, so he couldn’t watch Kisuke’s micro-expressions at the – surprisingly valid, after years of seeing Menos-shaped holes rife amongst shinigami logic – point. Dear _kami_ , if this was the kind of situation he had to handle on a regular basis, then no wonder Kisuke preferred to shut himself away in his lab.

After scarcely a perfunctory pause, Seishin continued on. “Unquestionably, if it was a mere matter of virtues, we could both stand here all day long citing our past deeds without getting anywhere. Urahara-san has quite the impressive repertoire of accomplishments –” he gave the barest tilt of his head, too shallow to be really termed a nod, towards the stack of papers in front of Yoruichi “– and I myself may humbly lay claim to several feats of my own during my tenure as the previous clan head. It thus becomes clear that we should not mention such things amongst ourselves, and instead focus upon the fundamental differences that lie between us.”

Seishin took a single step forwards, and although he didn’t make any obvious moves – nothing like Byakuya’s flashy cloak-twirling side-step – the _kamon_ upon his kimono caught the light, drawing Tsuzuki’s attention to the embroidered crests.

Yoruichi wasn’t smiling anymore.

Tsuzuki had no doubt half the actual conversation was going over his head and that was why he was so confused – wasn’t Seishin… complimenting Kisuke? – but he was loathe to ask Yoruichi to explain what was going on just in case she was busy conferring with Kisuke about… well, whatever that was currently going wrong.

His eyes fell on Yūshirō, who was perched on the edge of his seat, elbows propped on the table in front of him, his hands clasped.

‘ _What’s going on?_ ’

True to form, the only sign of shock Yūshirō betrayed was an unnatural stiffness in his shoulders, one easily overlooked amidst the tension in the chamber. ‘ _Tsuzuki-san?_ ’

Tsuzuki hesitated a moment, but his pride wasn’t worth not understanding what was going on, not when it was centred on him. ‘ _I… kind of lost track of the conversation after they stopped insulting each other? I mean, I got the bit where Seishin said Kisuke shouldn’t be multi-tasking, but then he started making compliments instead?_ ’

Yūshirō’s right eyebrow twitched, very faintly. ‘ _No, he’s saying that Kisuke-san has many accomplishments but none of them are worth a thing because Kisuke-san isn’t born to a noble family._ ’

… ah. Well, that would explain the look on Yoruichi’s face, then.

‘ _Seishin-dono’s now pointing out the fact that he can boast five heraldry crests on his formal kimono, but Kisuke-san only has three, and since we’re talking about a noble clan’s heir here, the mentor should first and foremost be a noble himself._ ’

All without saying a single word, apparently.

Apparently satisfied that everyone had understood his point, Seishin turned a half-step, sweeping the seated councillors with his gaze. “Great leaders, I feel, are like the finest blades. One does not find blades of surpassing quality lying in caves or embedded in stones. No, such blades must be forged with the utmost care, with the best materials, the best forges… and naturally, the best smiths. Such a smith can only become thus through experience, through learning, through _age_.”

He paused.

“Honoured elders, brothers, my _kinsmen_ , surely there can be no better mentor for a future heir than a past leader. I hesitate to extol my own virtues too far, lest some accuse me of being immodest, but it is undisputable that a former clan head would possess and thus be able to equip a future one with the skills he so desperately needs, be it political acumen, strategic sense, or foresight. Today, we stand here within this room, upon the only lands in this world that remain unravaged by the vampiric wars of succession raging across the globe, because there have been no vampires in Japan for a hundred and eighty years.”

The bottom of Tsuzuki’s stomach was rapidly turning to lead, because he didn’t need a translation this time to hear what Seishin was really saying.

“Urahara-san, as truly astounding as your feats have been, this is not the measure of ability you can bring to the table, much less pass on.”

There was a ripple of motion amongst the elders, but it was a few moments before the little old lady seated right in the centre – the very same one whom Tsuzuki had pegged for a Very Important Person the last time they’d met, but whose name he had yet to learn – spoke. “Urahara-san, a response this council requires.”

Kisuke bowed to her, far deeper than he’d had to Seishin. “My utmost apologies, Shihōin-sama.” Well, that was very helpful.

‘ _Who’s that?_ ’

Yūshirō sent him a look of utter disbelief. ‘ _Oh! Um, that’s Shihōin Shukō-sama, the mother of our – I mean, nee-sama’s and mine – father’s mother._ ’

It took him a moment to untwist Yūshirō’s words – so, his paternal great-grandmother, then? – by which time Kisuke had apparently completed whatever contemplations he’d been doing this whole time, and launched into his own speech.

“No one present would dare deny the fruits of your leadership, Seishin-dono, and I wish to offer no offence to your capabilities, proven as they have been. But the conflicts of today are much changed from the chaos of yesteryear, and the turn of the century has ushered in an unprecedented era of reform in the Transient World, a development we must keep in mind, lest we become mired in stagnant beliefs like the Kuchiki.”

There were several poorly-concealed smirks in response to this, and once again Tsuzuki felt that he was missing something, but there was no time to ask any more questions.

“With the passage of time, even the best blades must yet again be sharpened, lest they become outfought and overmatched by other, newer blades. The Shihōin is now no longer tasked with training the warriors of yesteryear, but instead with the guardians of tomorrow. It is as Seishin-dono has said, war has receded far enough from these lands that the Gotei no longer sees any need in churning out batteries of soldiers at every turn. Instead, the Shinigami Academy now offers its students electives in calligraphy, in flower arrangement, in arts unrelated to warfare, and its graduates have become the richer for it.”

“That may be well and good, Urahara-san,” Seishin cut in, “but may I remind you that however much the times demand a new mentor, you most certainly are not that man. Why, to permit an apprentice smith to handle an ingot of the finest tamahagane, without first having honed his craft on discarded hocho-tetsu – this would be well-nigh unthinkable, especially in view of the regrettably short supply of steel of that quality. The best blades endure the strongest fires, the most forging, the coldest tempering, and they come out all the better for it.”

“Blades of quality undoubtedly endure all that you have said and more, Seishin-dono,” acknowledged Kisuke. “But – the swordsmith who touts the quality of his smithing, of one masterpiece he creates in so little time, yet who hides the broken remnants of many other blades in his forge – is he truly the better smith? Or is it the one who draws the best temper out of the steel he has on hand, who takes all the time he needs, to hone the blade to the finest edge?”

Seishin turned back to the blond, and raised an imperative, disbelieving, eyebrow. “Be that as it may, no swordsmith worthy of the name is capable of forging only blades. He must be capable of making the tsuba, crafting the saya, finishing up the tsuka, and setting the blade – as if it were a gem of the highest rank – in the koshirae it so rightfully deserves.”

“Yet any swordsmith who acknowledges his own defects in the finishings may very well cooperate with other artisans of the finest rank, and together their efforts would well surpass the swordsmith working alone. It would be a blade of peerless edge, trimmed in the finest silk, and housed in a saya most worthy of the blade.”

Seishin scoffed, lip curling. “Such a swordsmith is a worthless one, unworthy of the name, besmirching the lineage and honour of his forebears in trade.”

“And yet,” Kisuke countered immediately, “Amakuni, the forebear of all, had the help of his son Amakura when he created the first blades.” As though responding to a non-verbal cue, Yoruichi pulled out a sheaf of papers and spread them over her portion of the table. “It has long been an honoured tradition in past generations for tutors of varying specialisations to be called upon to assist Shihōin mentors with their charges.” He paused again, as the first councillor picked up one of those papers to peruse. “To mentor the future head of the clan is a great honour, but this should not merely be a matter of personal pride, Seishin-dono.”

Then, before Seishin could open his mouth to retort in outrage, Kisuke clasped his hands together, and turned to regard each of the seated councillors much like Seishin had done before. “Honoured elders, noble councillors – it is as Seishin-dono has said: we may debate back and forth all day long, and yet gain no ground for our suit. Thus, we must now turn to the fundamental ideologies that separate us. Before this council, Seishin-dono has declared his intention to offer you the Honjo Masamune, a blade of great prowess comparable to any of the distinguished clan heads of yesteryear. And he has asked, what can a man like me bring to the table?”

He paused, and for the first time since he walked in Tsuzuki could see Kisuke’s side profile instead of just his back, and the geta-bōshi looked dead serious as he rarely ever was.

“To this I must now respond: I am not a great leader, nor a renowned master smith, and I have but one thing to offer, that which he cannot.”

Seishin apparently caught on far faster than Tsuzuki could ever hope to, lost as he was, but Kisuke had apparently already anticipated this, and had raised his voice to completely drown out the cry of outrage. “I offer you the Ame-no-Murakumo-no-Tsurugi, a blade utterly without peer – I offer you a clan heir with bankai, with Yoruichi-san here to stand as witness to my tutelage.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Chaos.

Utter chaos.

It might have been calmer, thought Tsuzuki, if Kisuke had set off a bomb in the council chamber.

“Prove it,” hissed Seishin, all composure apparently lost. “Prove your claim, and I will gladly concede to you this matter.”

Kisuke blinked at him, and Tsuzuki couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, even before the blond responded, tone dry and polite. “Certainly. May I fetch my zanpakutō?”

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun had risen some time while they’d been ensconced in the council chamber, but not a single person so much as tried to shade their eyes from the bright sunlight. All eyes were fixed on Kisuke, who had retrieved his customary cane from somewhere, and was now standing alone in the private practice courtyard.

“I would strongly recommend that everyone stays away from me.” The happy-go-lucky countenance melted away, like slush upon a spring breeze. “I must hereby forswear all responsibility for any fatalities.”

“Now see here –” one of the Council members spoke up from where he was standing, frothing at the mouth, but Kisuke spoke over him in an unprecedented display of rudeness.

“That wasn’t a threat.” He waited a beat, until the man had reluctantly settled down again, helped along no doubt by the glare coming from the Shihōin matriarch. “My Benihime, well, she’s… not very nice.”

“Understatement of the millennium,” muttered Yoruichi, but the silence was so deafening that all of them heard her anyway. She backed away pointedly from Kisuke, dragging Tsuzuki and Yūshirō along with her, and there was a hasty shuffle of movement as everyone suddenly decided they’d been standing too close.

Silence fell again, and then –

“Bankai.” Kisuke didn’t shout the word like most shinigami did; at least, most shinigami that Tsuzuki had ever heard release bankai. Instead, it was a statement of fact, as though he was a simple doorman announcing the guest of honour at a socialite gala. “Momiji no Hime.”

For the fraction of a moment, it was as if nothing had happened.

Then a torrential outpour of reiatsu burst out of the blond like a hurricane determined to level all in its path, drowning the compact soil upon the ground in rivers of crimson. Despite the hand clamped warningly around his shoulder, Tsuzuki leaned forwards in excitement, peering in vain through the storm to try to catch the first glimpse of Kisuke’s bankai.

When the gales died down, though, the former shopkeeper was holding a silver-and-black sword with a red tassel, in the exact same stance as before.

There was a long pause. It was clear that bankai had, indeed, been released. It was equally clear –

“Well, what does it do, then?” someone finally demanded.

A corner of Kisuke’s lips quirked up in a smile that didn’t reach his cold grey eyes. “Kill.”

Without waiting for any further comments, he rocked back onto his heels, toeing off his wooden clogs – and scarcely had his bare feet touched the earth before the nearest blades of grass began to wither, until there was a perfect circle of death upon the ground, with him as its epicentre.

He didn’t need the hand on his shoulder to hold him back anymore. Tsuzuki tore his eyes away from the chilling sight, barely resisting his first instinct to retreat as far as possible – and he was one of the few who’d managed that. Even Seishin had taken a single step back, though that could be due to the way Kisuke’s gaze was fixed on him, his face devoid of any expression.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Well. That had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.”

Tsuzuki followed Yūshirō into Yoruichi’s sitting room to see her throw herself down onto a pile of cushions, her arms casually crossed behind her head. He snatched the cushion she tossed at him out of the air before it could make a dent in his forehead, and at the last minute decided to forgo seiza. Kneeling all the time _hurt_.

A dull thump coming from the direction of the entrance made him look up, just in time to see Kisuke appear in the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame with his arms crossed over his chest. He was still dressed in that sombre outfit from earlier, the wooden clogs on his feet clashing wildly with the formality of his kimono – but now that Tsuzuki knew just _why_ the blond was always wearing those, it suddenly wasn’t funny anymore.

“At least it’s just grass and none of them demanded you demonstrate it on animals.”

Tsuzuki frowned faintly, because Yoruichi sounded like she was speaking from past experience, but when – ah. Wasn’t Kisuke previously a captain? He vaguely remembered bankai being a pre-requisite for that, and the Old Man was definitely ruthless enough to be that thorough.

Was it rude to ask someone to explain how their bankai worked?

Before he could make up his mind, Yūshirō broke the silence. “Despite the unfortunate circumstances, Kisuke-san, congratulations on achieving bankai.”

“Thank you.” Kisuke looked to be somewhat startled by the interruption, nodding back on what seemed to be autopilot.

“I guess this means that the legends are true, then?” Yūshirō asked, a little tentatively. “The more powerful the bankai, the more terrible the compensation?”

“ _With great power, comes great responsibility_ ,” quoted Kisuke, and then sighed. “As far as I’m aware, yes. A bankai capable of reducing all creation to ashes wouldn’t be able to differentiate friend from foe; a bankai capable of lowering ambient temperature to absolute zero would freeze the wielder along with the enemy; a bankai capable of flight would have a countdown timer limiting its duration.”

Yūshirō blinked rapidly, opening his mouth as though he wanted to ask who these people were, and then thinking the better of it. His face contorted into a fierce expression of concentration completely incongruous on the face of someone who looked like an eight-year-old, but his eyes betrayed his true intelligence. “A bankai is the truest reflection of one’s self,” he muttered as though he too was quoting something, “which means that Momiji no Hime’s primary purpose isn’t to kill, because _I know you_ , Kisuke-san, so the deathtouch effect… that’s actually the side-effect, isn’t it – that’s your _compensation_.”

Yoruichi and Kisuke exchanged a long look, and inexplicably Yoruichi gave a smug little smile.

“Well done,” she confirmed, and Yūshirō beamed like she’d just offered him the world. “You’re right, most people would have simply assumed that the killing was the main point and the drawback was that he can’t direct it – but actually, the killing is indiscriminate _because_ it’s the compensation.”

Yūshirō nodded enthusiastically, and then paused like he was trying to work up to his next question, and Tsuzuki decided to give him a break. “So what’s the actual effect, then?”

The boy shot him an incredulous look, like he couldn’t believe Tsuzuki had the nerve to be so impolite, but Kisuke didn’t even seem to have noticed. “It provides me with the _means_ by which I can achieve any number of ends,” he finally said, his tone making it obvious that any further discussion wouldn’t be welcome, but Tsuzuki had heard enough to understand.

The ‘ _means_ ’, huh,” he repeated slowly. Had the Wandenreich also known about this? Was this why they had singled Kisuke out as a Special War Power – not only for his aptitude, but for the bankai he commanded?

Yoruichi scowled darkly. Yūshirō just looked confused.

“In any case, Kisuke – what on earth possessed you to challenge Seishin like that?” Yoruichi sat up, her scowl deepening.

Kisuke quirked a single brow at her, looking nonplussed. “Yoruichi-san, how else, exactly, did you expect me to win? To the council’s knowledge, I may have been an acceptable shinobi, but I have not led anyone, and I’ve certainly never taught anyone – and that is before we bring in nobility status.”

“You didn’t need to insult him that badly, though – _one who hides the broken remnants of many other blades in his forge_? By the gods, were you trying to get stabbed in your sleep?”

“I shall endeavour to sleep less, then,” Kisuke quipped, and then raised his hands in surrender when Yoruichi growled at him. “Right, yes. I felt the council was due a reminder that Seishin-dono is not without faults of his own, _especially if_ he was going to parade me around as a shining example of his tutelage.”

“ _What_ ,” Tsuzuki burst out, “are the two of you _talking about_?”

Yoruichi huffed out an annoyed sigh, but it was Yūshirō who answered. “Seishin-dono has had five mentees before; four of them died before they could graduate, and the only survivor is standing right here in this room.” He glanced up at Yoruichi, who nodded back at him and elaborated.

“One seemed to have gotten into some kind of accident as far as we could tell, two on various missions, and the last simply outright committed suicide. Definitely not the best resumé, and Seishin spent decades trying to erase the rumours that he was either cursed or actively sabotaging them.”

Tsuzuki put a hand to his forehead, rubbing slowly at his temples. More than stealth or fighting or anything else, he was going to need _Japanese_ lessons, apparently. “Okay, so basically, Seishin spent most of his speech diminishing Kisuke’s capabilities, using some analogy about sword-smithing, and Kisuke was trying to make that analogy backfire on him?”

“And defend himself against all the accusations,” ventured Yūshirō, and then flashed Kisuke a quicksilver smile. “Though I have never heard someone try to argue the merits of procrastination before.”

“Well, I certainly didn’t succeed,” replied Kisuke wryly. “Really, the only thing that fell in my favour was the fact that the elders couldn’t pass up the opportunity to beat all the other clans. There has never in recorded history been a clan heir with bankai,” he added, seeing Tsuzuki’s look of confusion. “It’s like having a Quincy with shinigami powers.”

Yūshirō gave them a puzzled look when both Tsuzuki and Yoruichi burst into laughter.

“Well, now that internal matters have been settled, there’s no way I can put this off any longer.” Yoruichi reached underneath her pile of cushions, and tugged out a piece of parchment. “We’ve all been cordially invited to the upcoming Shiba party next week, which is pretty much code for ‘everyone wants a look at your new clan heir and we want an excuse to set off more fireworks’. I suggest you brush up on your knowledge of etiquette, before you accidentally spark off a war _or_ propose marriage. Or, knowing you, Tsuzuki- _chan_ – somehow both at the same time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Seiyashi for helping with the formal verse, and ZG for the trial run.
> 
> Intentional wink at Bleach 622 (aka the only manga chapter I've read in the past year). I hope someone saves cute little Yuushirou.
> 
> Momiji no Hime (紅葉御姫): Imperial Princess of the Crimson Leaves of Autumn.


	8. More than either of us has ever expected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the past should remain the past, and the path to a new future opens...
> 
> #End Part One

Isshin was willing to admit, somewhere deep inside, that he had _no idea_ how this all happened.

Oh, he knew how it all _started_ , all right. Apparently Yoruichi might have mentioned something about adopting a new clan heir to Kūkaku, who then decided to tell Kaien all about it. That wouldn’t have been a problem in itself, except she chose to shout it over the communal dinner table, loud enough that they probably heard her two streets over.

_“Poor kid. Maybe we should throw him a party, before he gets stifled by all those stuffy old coots they call a council.”_

He’d been mostly joking, but clearly no one else thought so, and the level of sheer enthusiasm was _completely confounding._ Or maybe he’d just forgotten what his relatives were like, some time in the ensuing years of the Massacre, the good memories having become buried along with the bad.

The Shiba might have been almost equal in size to the Kuchiki or the Shihōin, but they didn’t have the rigid clan hierarchy those other two clans did. For all his talents, their founder Shiba Yosuzaku had been a little too free with his love of women, and trying to maintain some kind of main-clan-branch-clan structure would have been an impossible nightmare with new Shibas popping out of the woodwork. Literally, sometimes – there was a very good reason their clan was famed for its fireworks, not the least because sudden explosive bursts of reiatsu seemed to be a hereditary trait.

Isshin had never thought he’d ever be the voice of reason, but –

“What if… they don’t show up?”

Trotting past him with an overflowing stack of plates, Ganjū gave him the oddest look, like he couldn’t imagine why anyone would skip out on a party. Then again, the boy was only fifty-two, barely out of infancy.

Yuzu and Karin had loved parties when they’d been five, too, back before –

He was getting maudlin in his old age. Masaki would have laughed her head off.

“Don’t worry, they’ll come, even if Yoruichi-chan’s got to drag the lot of them along by their stiff collars!” Kūkaku thumped him on the back, laughing. “Isshin-jii, since when did you become such a worrywart? That’s our Kaien-dono’s job!”

 _Since I watched the life fade from my daughters’ eyes,_ he wanted to say, but bit down on his tongue before he could give in to that urge.

Kaien rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his sister’s teasing, but Isshin could feel little pinpricks on the back of his neck coming from that direction, long after the rest of them had lost interest in him and began avidly discussing logistics instead.

The little faint frown upon Kaien’s brow vanished as soon as he noticed Isshin looking his way.

“Ignoring the party invitation, when it’s publicly thrown in their honour, would be a grave insult to us and a total loss of face none of the Shihōin elders would dare to suffer.” He laid a hand on Isshin’s arm, voice pitched low enough that none of the rest would hear him. “They’ll all come. You’ll see.”

~*~*~*~

Well, Kaien was right about that, at least. Everyone did turn up, from the reclusive Nakatomi to the stiff-necked Kuchiki. Isshin sipped at his sake as he wandered aimlessly through the mingling crowd, exchanging brief pleasantries with those who called out to him, side-stepping a little Byakuya who was intent on becoming a human cannonball, until he could see _him_.

His son.

He might not look like his son anymore, might not even _feel_ like his son anymore – now that there was no longer any trace of Hollow in him – but it was definitely his son kneeling on those cushions, looking discomfited with the whole situation as only Ichigo could. The way he fidgeted, simultaneously too well-schooled to shift but not yet controlled enough to stop his own fluttering reiatsu from giving him away; the way he laughed at whatever Yoruichi had just said, eyes fairly sparkling with mirth – that was pure Ichigo right there.

He’d never told his son that he smiled exactly the way Masaki used to.

Isshin could honestly say that he hadn’t expected any of this to happen, but at least, in this one respect, he hadn’t failed Masaki. Yukimaru – and hadn’t _that_ been a surprise? To go from having one son to two of them? – had been right: it didn’t matter if his name was Shihōin Tsuzuki or Kurosaki Ichigo, that man sitting right there was still the same person his beloved once gave her life to save, and Isshin had no doubt that if he were to meander over right now, his son would be just as glad to see him as he would have been a year ago.

Probably greet him with a flying kick to the face, too.

He was _definitely_ getting too maudlin in his old age if the thought of being kicked in the face tugged at his lips – but why wouldn’t he be happy?

His son was alive, and well, and doing something he believed in with all his heart.

That was all a parent could ask for.

~*~*~*~*~

Tsuzuki was _bored_.

He did understand the importance of this party, he really did, despite all the elders’ misforgivings. If he was to be the clan head someday, the other four Great Noble Clans had to at least know him by sight, if not name. He was just kind of tired of smiling robotically, politely at gaggles of people he’d never met and whose names he was forgetting almost as soon as the next person was introduced.

He’d also finally met the infamous Shiba Kaien, and he’d now _finally_ understood why the entire of Division Thirteen had been doing double-takes at the sight of him.

“This here is Hoshino Hisoka-san, Captain of the Guard to the Nakatomi clan, and his son Hideaki.”

He was really going to have to ask Kisuke for some kind of cheat sheet on how to memorise all these names. At least the Nakatomi clan was small compared to the Shihōin or even the Shiba, and there were only six people whom he had to greet – the clan head Nakatomi Kazuhiko, his wife Junko, his younger brother, and two people from the Hoshino, their retainer clan. If he had to be introduced to the grand-uncle of the sister of the daughter-in-law or whatever of the current clan head one more time…

At least Tsuzuki was pretty sure he’d never met either of them before. He’d nearly spat out his tea when he first recognised that little firebrand tearing up the place as _Byakuya_. No wonder Yoruichi had always insisted on calling him Byakuya- _bo_ , because he was definitely a brat at this age – brash to the point of rudeness, flew off the handle at the slightest provocation, and proud of his clan almost to the point of arrogance.

What happened in the ensuing century to freeze all that fire in his veins?

Perhaps he would ask Yoruichi later. Or, perhaps…

Hearing his name in the conversation caught his attention.

“– no, not right now,” Yoruichi was replying. “We have of course every intention to enrol him in the Academy a few years later, but it was collectively agreed that his preliminary studies should focus upon the decorum as befitting a noble clan heir.”

 _Before we unleash him upon the general populace_ , Tsuzuki heard, and had to smother an inappropriate grin.

“I see,” Hoshino Hisoka said slowly. “My son here will also be attending the Academy shortly; perhaps he might be fortunate enough to see Tsuzuki-dono there.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Yoruichi noncommittally.

Since he obviously wasn’t expected to contribute to the conversation, Tsuzuki let his mind wander again. Wasn’t there was something he wanted to… oh, right, find out what happened to Byakuya. And since Yoruichi was occupied with making small talk on their behalf, he was going to have to get his answers from somewhere else. Some _one_ else.

He slowed his breathing, and cast out his senses in an ever-expanding spiral in search of that elusive whisper of gossamer reiatsu.

There he was, in the shadows of that tree.

Obviously, Kisuke hadn’t been actively hiding; Tsuzuki was under no illusion that if the blond wouldn’t have let himself been found if he didn’t want to be, especially not by someone whose reiatsu-sensing ability was as bad as Tsuzuki’s. It didn’t help that Kisuke’s reiatsu, the little he could sense, diffused through the air like diaphanous tendrils of mist, as intangible and difficult to pin down as vapour.

He felt a distinct sense of accomplishment at the success. Call it extended period of close proximity or whatever, but he’d never been able to pinpoint someone’s location before – Rukia didn’t count. Possessing her shinigami powers for a period of time had left its indelible mark.

‘ _Did you need something?_ ’

And of course Kisuke would have noticed the brief brush of a foreign reiatsu against his own. Tsuzuki shook his head mentally, and it was the product of a few moments’ concentration to coalescence the threads in his grasp into an actual spirit ribbon.

‘ _I was just wondering how the Byakuya right now turned into the Byakuya I’m familiar with._ ’

The silence that ensued was almost pregnant, as though Kisuke was debating how best to answer that question.

_‘Shortly after he graduated from the Academy, Kuchiki-san’s parents were killed. They never found out who or why.’_

‘ _Not by Hollows?_ ’

‘ _No, Kuchiki Akane-san retired from active service after the birth of her son, in accordance with the proper course of action for noble ladies. They were unexpectedly attacked during a cherry blossom viewing,_ ’ Kisuke’s mental voice was grim. ‘ _In actual fact, the two of them might not even have been the main target – they’d been trying to protect several children from the cross-fire when a badly-deflected attack went awry and hit them instead. The trajectory was unfortunate._ ’

And probably inspired the former shopkeeper to train so hard to develop a technique that would cancel out an attack instead of deflect it, Tsuzuki understood in a moment of startling clarity. He could still vividly remember the day when Kisuke had cancelled out Yammy’s cero, stating that it would have been too dangerous to deflect. It didn’t take a genius to calculate trajectories – his physics wasn’t  _that_  bad – and realise that a deflected blow would have hit him head-on that day.

He hadn’t known cancellation was even  _possible_ , but only upon mentioning it to some other shinigami did he begin to realise just how impossible it rightfully should have been. Kisuke had, what, less than five seconds to accurate identify the pattern of reiatsu frequency and strength of the cero, generate his own attack with an identical reiatsu pattern, modulate it to account for the difference between shinigami and Hollow reiatsu, and fire it right at the moment Yammy released his attack.

Honestly, Kisuke made some things just look so _easy_.

The Nakatomi retinue gave way to the Hashiji, and Tsuzuki had to stifle his startled rapid blinking when he realised there were just two of them, the clan head and his wife.

‘ _The Hashiji, unlike the Shiba, have always suffered from bouts of sterility no amount medication seemed to alleviate,_ ’ supplied Kisuke without needing to be asked this time. ‘ _Hashiji Kasumi-san has been trying to conceive for years, to no avail – their clan will end with their generation if she does not succeed. They’ve been seriously considering adopting a baby from Rukongai, and will no doubt be watching your progress closely._ ’

It would be a pity, thought Tsuzuki. Hashiji Kasumi looked to be in her thirties, which meant she was far older in shinigami terms, but her eyes crinkled with good humour as she greeted Yoruichi as… sister-of-another-name, if he understood that term correctly. He didn’t know she’d been so close to someone other than Kūkaku; Yoruichi had certainly never mentioned Kasumi before.

That probably meant she was already dead. It was a sobering thought.

“And Shūko-sama, is she well?”

Shūko… Shūko… he’d just heard this name a few days ago – oh, right, Yoruichi’s… great-grandmother? That little old lady who seemed to be the head of the council. But why was the Hashiji clan head asking after –

“She is as well as ever, cousin,” laughed Yoruichi, “and can no doubt still give us a good thrashing in the dojo if she was thus inclined!”

… cousin?

His eyes instinctively sought Kisuke’s, searching for clarification, and even though the blond was far enough that he couldn’t possibly have overheard the whole exchange, he didn’t disappoint. ‘ _The marriage of Hashiji Shūko to the then-clan heir and later clan head Shihōin Kiritsugu, Yoruichi-san’s great-grandfather, was what first allowed the Onmitsukidō to be trained in the secret martial arts of the Hashiji clan. Kiritsugu-sama has long since passed on, but Shūko-sama’s constitution has served her well so far, and she is now in her eleventh century._ ’

An astounding achievement, given that the majority of shinigami didn’t live past five hundred or so, and civilians far less than that.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Hashiji Kasumi suddenly said, looking directly at Tsuzuki. “We must be frightfully boring to you, with all our chattering.”

Tsuzuki froze like a deer in headlights, all those drilled phrases flying out of his head in an instant upon being directly addressed for the first time that evening. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Yoruichi’s eyes narrowing, as though she was debating whether or not to come to his rescue.

He might not know exactly what to say, but his mother didn’t raise a total barbarian.

“Not at all, Hashiji-dono,” he somehow managed not to stumble over the words, “I was simply marvelling at my great fortune to witness such a grand gathering as this one, but I fear that my inattention might have come across as boredom.”

He could _feel_ Kisuke’s bemusement radiating from all the way over there, and had to fight the urge to flush. _‘What? It worked… right?_ ’

Kasumi’s eyebrows rose, and then she daintily covered her mouth with the back of one hand as she burst into giggles. “My, cousin,” Hashiji Junichi murmured, looking as amused as his wife felt, “the heavens must have smiled brightly upon you indeed, to grace you with such a gem as this young man. I should also like to meet the tutor, as a man capable of inducing such eloquence in such a short period of time must be skilful indeed.”

Yoruichi laughed out loud, not bothering to cover her own mouth as Kasumi did, and pointed. “I am afraid you may lay the entirety of the blame upon his _shudō_ mentor, who is standing over there.”

The two of them were visibly taken aback. “ _Wakashudō_?” asked Kasumi. “Isn’t he a little old for that?”

Yoruichi dipped her head in a slight nod. “Nevertheless, this is the path our esteemed council has agreed upon. In view of his special circumstances, they have felt that specialised one-to-one tutelage would be more beneficial than placing him in the regular classes.”

“And yet, they have granted his contract to a commoner?” Junichi held up his hands. “Forgive me, I mean no offence; I was merely surprised that the Shihōin council would grant their favour to one not noble-born, and especially one so young.”

There was a sudden tension in Yoruichi’s reiatsu, though Tsuzuki couldn’t figure out the cause of it (a distressingly normal occurrence lately).

“The council’s collective wisdom has decreed that despite his lack of noble birth and tender age of a hundred and fifty years, Urahara Kisuke-san would make for a better mentor than former clan head Seishin-dono.”

Wait… _what_?

‘ _You’re fifteen?_’

He felt more than saw the blond wince. ‘ _Well… technically speaking, I’m two hundred and eighty-one years old right now. But yes,_ ’ Kisuke added before Tsuzuki could screech some more, ‘ _I would be about a hundred and fifty at this point in time._ ’

Dear _gods_ , no wonder the council was having kittens about letting Kisuke mentor him!

Tsuzuki centred himself and made himself look, _really look_ , for the first time since they were thrown back in time. Without the memory of their older selves overshadowing them at every turn, he realised what he should have noticed all along – hadn’t he been noting Yoruichi’s child-like features just the other day? Well, of course she’d still look somewhat like a child if she was just _fifteen_!

Thankfully, the Hashiji were the last of the four clans to be introduced, and he was left to his own musings in peace. Well, relative peace, interrupted by the occasional dull _boom_ of the Shiba cannon and the minor explosions overhead. Who else would be setting off fireworks when it wasn’t even night-time yet?

No wonder Goat-Face turned out like… well, like _Goat-Face_. All his relatives were crazy.

If they could even be considered his relatives anymore.

All he ever wanted to do was to protect his friends and family, but ‘defeat Aizen’ had apparently turned into ‘make the Shihōin like me, so that I could become tasty bait, so that Aizen will be interested in me, so that I could learn of all his plans, so that I could _thoroughly_ defeat Aizen’.

This whole thing was just getting more and more complicated by the minute, and he had no idea what he was doing, given that he seemed to be missing a hundred years’ worth of _context_ ; he only hoped that Kisuke and/or Yoruichi knew what _they_ were doing.

It was a good thing that Yukimaru didn’t live in his inner world anymore; the Hollow – er, former Hollow – would surely be hammering on the door shrieking about how much he hated the rain right about now.

_I wonder what Kisuke-san would say if I asked to visit Yuki…_

~*~*~*~*~

“Hm.”

“Is that a ‘yes’, or a ‘no’?” Tsuzuki demanded. Such impatience.

“It’s a ‘let me think about it’.” Kisuke unwound the obi from around Yoruichi’s waist, being careful not to accidentally cut himself on the manriki chain hidden within the folds of cloth, and waited patiently until Yoruichi had divested herself of all the other weaponry on her person before taking the outer layer of kimono off.

Tsuzuki was giving the rapidly-growing pile of weaponry a comically bug-eyed look. “Is all that… necessary?”

Kisuke paused. Okay, so maybe four daggers, a garrotte, a war fan, a pair of nunchakus disguised as hair accessories, and a packet of smoke bombs – not counting what he himself was carrying – might have been a little excessive. Better to be excessive, than to be caught unprepared, though.

He fluttered his new paper fan in front of his face. “Maa, maa, Tsuzuki-san, feeling jealous?”

Tsuzuki looked, for a brief moment, like he wanted to grab the fan and stab Kisuke with it. It was a really good thing he wasn’t using one of his _special_ fans if the young man decided to go through with that; he didn’t fancy having to explain to the elders why there was now a smoking crater in the floor. Again.

Yoruichi stretched, side-stepping the sharp pointy things on the floor, and Kisuke observed in amusement as Tsuzuki hastily averted his eyes. At least he’d finally stopped with all that shrieking and flailing; which, hilarious at first, soon outgrew its novelty. Really, Aizen could have just gone with an army of naked female Arrancar, and saved himself all the trouble when half the shinigami began tripping over their own swords.

He added his own daggers to the pile, and then the fan tucked into his sash –

“You cannot possibly expect me to believe a _paper fan_ is a weapon.”

Kisuke paused, about to toss the fan over into the pile, and then snapped it open instead with a practised flick of his wrist. The side facing outwards depicted a generic painting of a pair of cranes, and he could see the confusion in Tsuzuki’s eyes. He twirled the fan around to show him the inner side, inscribed with poetry.

“What, you’re going to kill people with bad poetry?”

“If that was all it did, Yoruichi-san would be very sad about spending six million kan on this.” Kisuke’s voice was dry.

“ _Six million_ –”

“Oho, is that the one I got you for your hundredth birthday –”

Kisuke tapped a fingernail against one of the struts of the fan, and had the pleasure of watching Tsuzuki’s mouth drop open at the clear ringing sound of metal.

“Watch,” he said, and this time Tsuzuki didn’t interrupt with another smart remark. Good, because channelling just enough reiatsu into the fan to make it glow, without actually activating it, was tricky. “Hado no san-jū-ni,” he intoned slowly, and the kanji characters for _Ōkasen,_ cleverly concealed within the poem, lit up to suffuse the fan in a soft yellow glow.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed there are many drawbacks to using kidō. The incantations can be long, but skipping the incantation would reduce the power of the spell.” He gave the still-shining fan in his hand a gentle wave. “Several millennia ago, the Nakatomi came up with a secret technique to pre-inscribe kidō incantations onto various objects, which can then be activated with a spark of reiatsu. No warning, no time delay, and no loss of power.”

“Please don’t blow up the house again, Kisuke.”

“That happened _ages_ ago, Yoruichi-san, why must you keep bringing it up?” He carefully cut the thread of reiatsu he’d been feeding into the fan, allowing it to return to its innocuous disguise of a regular paper fan.

Yoruichi flicked him a very unimpressed look. “Because we were stuck sleeping outdoors in the _middle of winter_ until the workmen could fix all the support beams?”

“I already apologised for that! Many, many times!”

Tsuzuki threw his head back and laughed, and Kisuke was glad to see that his mirth chased the shadow of melancholy from his eyes, leaving him as the nineteen-year-old he was supposed to be for a moment.

A moment too brief.

“Seriously, though, is being randomly attacked a common occurrence?”

He glanced over at Yoruichi, because it should be her choice whether or not to tell him, and pretended not to notice the faint frown creasing Tsuzuki’s brow when his question didn’t receive a simple yes or no answer.

Yoruichi sighed, pulling on her simple night robe, and then fell into a cross-legged seat on the floor. “You’re right, it wouldn’t be fair to make you keep stumbling in the dark, trying to figure out what’s going on without any context. So sit down, and let us tell you a story.”

~*~*~*~*~

“I first met Kisuke when we were sixty-four years old. My father was the clan head at the time, and as the clan heiress I was rarely allowed outside the four walls of the manor. I was a rather precocious child back then –”

“Rebellious.”

“– _precocious_ , and unfortunately for my parents I had also inherited the Shihōin gift for instinctive shunpo, so on the rare occasions that I was permitted to follow my father on his routine inspections, I’d often attempt to escape. I’d never managed to figure out how they would always be able to find me, no matter how far I’d gone, until one day I was so focused on getting away that I ran into someone.”

_“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”_

_“So pretty…”_

_“I – I… uh, um, thank you very much?”_

_“Huh? Oh! My apologies, I didn’t see you there!”_

_“… then_ who _were you calling pretty?”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“Ow! Don’t poke me! Seriously, what are you staring at?”_

_“This seal, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”_

“He alerted me to the fact that there was a tracking seal woven into my clothes, and then at my urging disabled it.”

“Indeed, it was a very _impactful_ first meeting.”

_“Otō-sama, otō-sama!”_

_“Yoruichi-chan? Where did you come from – nevermind. Do you have_ any idea _how worried we are, how many people are out there looking for you right now?”_

_“Well, serves them right for putting seals onto my clothes! It took us so long to get it out too; we didn’t even have the time to properly explore Rukongai.”_

_“… who’s the_ we _?”_

_“My new friend here! Otō-sama, can I keep him? I promise to feed him, and wash him, and bring him out for walks, and take care of him –”_

_“Yoruichi-chan, get into the palanquin, otō-san just needs to speak to your new friend here.”_

_“No! No, you’re just going to get rid of him too, like how you get rid of everyone who doesn’t do as you say, and that’s not fair! I made him do it, so if you’re going to punish someone, you should punish me instead!”_

“I managed to convince my father to let Kisuke stay as a foster-child of our clan, and we had a very idyllic childhood together.”

_“YOU WILL GET BACK HERE IF YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE.”_

_“It’s precisely because I value my life that I’m running!”_

_“KISU – oh. Erm. Greetings, otō-sama.”_

_“What are the two of you doing?”_

_“We’re, uh –”_

_“We’re practising our speed techniques with this new training exercise called shunpo tag, Shihōin-sama.”_

_“… carry on.”_

“I think Yoruichi-san has some selective memory issues – ow!”

“You already know about the Quincy Massacre –”

“Second Quincy War would be the official terminology –”

“Call a spade a spade, Kisuke. Tsuzuki, you know that the Quincy Massacre occurred approximately two hundred years before your birth, don’t you? Both sides suffered drastic losses – in fact, near the end of the war, the Gotei was losing seated officers so fast that they didn’t even bother filling the command-level positions until the whole thing was over.”

“Yeah… I’d heard something about that. That’s how Shinji and the rest knew each other, right? Because they were all initiated in the same batch?”

“I believe Kuna-san came a while later, but she was so inseparable from Muguruma-san that he eventually began bringing her to the Friday night drinking parties.”

“They’ve never invited me, though. I wonder why.”

“Yoruichi-san… that was probably because you weren’t old enough to drink. Still aren’t old enough to drink, in point of fact.”

“In any case, the Gotei then underwent some reforms, one of the new policies being that all shinigami in the regular Gotei, Onmitsukidō, and Kidōshū must complete the new Shinigami Academy curriculum, irrespective of their method of recruitment or clan privileges. Kisuke and I were already slated for the Onmitsukidō at that point in time, but next thing we knew, we were being shuffled into the Advanced Class together with, oh, maybe two dozen or so displaced members. The Academy had to temporarily rescind its restrictions on age just to accommodate us all; I think the oldest was, what, this three-hundred-year-old from the Kidō Corps, and the two of us were just eighty?”

“Something like that.”

“And, of course, Kisuke finishes the whole six-year syllabus in two months, and spends the rest of his time skipping classes to dig holes in the ground.”

                _“Kisuke, where have you been the whole day? And why are you covered in dirt?”_

_“I’ll tell you later, Yoruichi-san. If it works out.”_

_“You know, ‘digging your own grave’ isn’t supposed to be quite so literal.”_

_“Nice try, but I’m still not telling you right now.”_

_“Ah, whatever. Don’t miss next Monday’s class, they’re handing out asauchi, and if you managed to miss that I’ll laugh at your zanpakutō-less ass for the rest of your life.”_

_“Understood~”_

“I’ll have you know that not _all_ of that time was spent digging; at least _some_ of it was spent in the library researching.”

“Researching what, ways to dig faster?”

“… you wound me, Yoruichi-san.”

“It took us two years to graduate, and only because the Academy was scrambling to come up with a way to deal with students who were already proficient in the combat sections – in a spar, pitting an actual student against someone who’d already seen live combat is just a total disaster, but to make us keep sparring against the same partners over and over again encourages bad habits to form.”

“Not to mention the time Yoruichi-san accidentally disarmed our kenjutsu instructor.”

“It’s my mistake, I thought he’d move _faster_.”

“Or the time Yoruichi-san made our hōhō instructor so dizzy he fell down.”

“Hah! Serves him right for suggesting there might be something wrong with my shunpo.”

“Methinks the instructors invented the criteria for early graduation just so they can get rid of her.”

“I can hear you even if you’re whispering, you know, _Kisuke_.”

“Errr, moving on. I finished the secret training ground under the Sōkyoku Hill shortly after the start of our second year, and by then Yoruichi-san had also given up on attending some of the classes. To be frank, I think the instructors were very glad for her absence – aiyee!”

“Don’t make me beat you to death with your fan, Kisuke.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry. We were in our last semester, a few months away from our graduation exams when everything began to go wrong.”

_“Yoruichi-sama! Oh, thank goodness you have finally returned, Yoruichi-sama.”_

_“I was away on a Transient World patrol – what is it?”_

_“I fear that I must be the herald of terrible news, Yoruichi-sama. Here, please take this.”_

_“No! I cannot believe –”_

_“Yoruichi-san, this is –”_

_“Asami-chan? Shoji-chan? My sisters, are they well?”_

_“I’m so sorry, Yoruichi-sama.”_

“While we had been away, there was an attack on the clan head’s family. Yoruichi-san’s parents, their attendants, her two younger sisters – they were all dead.”

“Four of Suì-Fēng’s elder brothers – why that girl doesn’t hate me for it I don’t know –”

“The only survivors were Yūshirō-san, who had been at his grandparents’ that evening, and Yoruichi-san, who was in the Academy.”

“Yūshirō doesn’t… he doesn’t remember much of his parents, he was only twenty-one –”

“It was a good thing that the instructors were used to our absences, because we couldn’t very well bring a toddler to class.”

_“KISUKE. WHERE ARE YOU.”_

_“Fourth Division, library, parenting section. Might I beseech you not to scream into the Hell Butterfly?”_

_“DO SOMETHING, KISUKE.”_

_“Yoruichi-san, please, what makes you think I’ve found something in the thirty seconds since your last butterfly?”_

_“Ow! Stop it – what have you been teaching these critters – stop slapping me – I’m going to be thrown out at this rate –”_

_“HE’S CRYING WHAT DO I DO IS HE HUNGRY DOES HE NEED MILK I DON’T PRODUCE ANY MILK –”_

_“I’m sure it wouldn’t come to that, Yoruichi-san, please, calm down – actually, belay that. On my way back; I think I might have found something of use.”_

“While searching for a new caretaker for Yūshirō, we met Tessai, whose help was invaluable in the first few days of our new situation.”

_“FINALLY. You said you’ve found – er, who’s this?”_

_“Greetings, Shihōin-dono. My name is Tsukabishi Tessai, the eighteenth seat of the Fourth Division, and I believe I may be able to offer some assistance. Urahara-dono has explained part of the situation to me, and I am the oldest of five children.”_

_“Oh, thank the gods.”_

“We did eventually manage to find Yūshirō a proper caretaker, just in time for the graduation exams.”

_“Yoruichi-san. Hey, Yoruichi-san, wake up.”_

_“Nnghmmph –”_

_“It’s time for dinner.”_

_“Sorry. It’s just… Yūshirō was up crying all night –”_

_“I know, I was there, remember?”_

_“Urgh, there’s just so much to memorise for history, and it’s all so boring, and I keep falling asleep while revising and at this rate I’m going to fail the exam –”_

_“Yoruichi-san…”_

_“– and you’ll graduate without me and – actually. Kisuke.”_

_“… yeeees?”_

_“You know I’d normally never ask for this, but… can I borrow your cheat sheets for history?”_

_“I’m sorry?”_

_“I’m really tired, don’t front with me – I know you’ve analysed the history exam papers from the past three decades and compiled a list of likely questions and how to answer them – can I please just borrow it.”_

_“Yes, of course – I would have offered, but Yoruichi-san has always preferred to do everything on her own…”_

_“At this point in time, I’m desperate enough to do anything.”_

_“Uh huh.”_

_“And I’m not the only one either, you’ve seen the senior years in the library; they look ready to pull out their zanpakutō if you breathe too loudly.”_

_“That’s true. Hey, Yoruichi-san…”_

_“What?”_

_“How much money do you think people are willing to pay for these?”_

“Kisuke accidentally started his first business selling cheat sheets for the written papers, and it turns out that the Academy likes to recycle their questions so they were good for a few years, until the Academy instructors found out.”

_“Hello, welcome to Urahara Shōten, how may I help you?”_

_“Urahara Kisuke-san, holder of the highest total score ever achieved in the entirety of the two millennia that the Academy has been operating.”_

_“Errr, good morning, Ōnabara-sensei.”_

_“I understand that you are the creator of the ‘study guide’ that has been vital in keeping the theory scores of our graduates so high in the past few years.”_

_“Ahaha, I believe you may have the wrong person, Ōnabara-sensei. I am but a lowly Onmitsukidō recruit these days.”_

_“Be that it may, Squad Officer Urahara Kisuke, we at the Academy are well aware that you have done nothing against the law, but I am sure that you can understand our position. So I am going to propose a deal.”_

_“… I’m listening.”_

_“In return for your undertaking to not sell or otherwise circulate these guides or the material within in any way, the Shin'ō Academy is willing to offer you this sum in compensation.”_

_“That – oh, that will be acceptable.”_

_“Thank you very much for your understanding.”_

_“The pleasure is all mine, Ōnabara-sensei.”_

_“One last thing.”_

_“… yes?”_

_“Will you provide us with a copy?”_

“It became standard Academy policy after that to revise the exam questions every six years, even if it didn’t really work against Kisuke.”

“I think Ōnabara-sensei cried when he had to give Yūshirō-san full marks on all his written exams.”

“As for the Shihōin clan, though, since I was only eighty-three, it was deemed that my uncle Seishin should take over as acting clan head until I was older. We didn’t think anything of it at the time, as we were too busy rising through the ranks of the Executive Militia to really pay attention to the kind of vicious clan politics I’d been sheltered from all my life. It soon became apparent, however, that there was a glass ceiling present in the Onmitsukidō, a fact that was never made more apparent when Kisuke was passed over for promotion three times in a row for candidates _far_ less suitable than he was.”

“Katsuo-san wasn’t that bad –”

“I wasn’t talking about Katsuo. _That_ was the one appointment I actually agreed with. The rest of them, other than being of noble birth and vaguely passable in a fight, they had _nothing_ to offer.”

“Yoruichi-san –”

“One of them didn’t even have shikai! And you’ve had yours for nearly six years by then!”

“It was then, that Seishin-dono approached me with an offer to mentor me. His sponsorship, he said, would be sufficient to assuage any lingering concerns about my birth.”

“Don’t sugar-coat it, Kisuke.”

“That really was what he said, Yoruichi-san.”

“You’re forgetting the part where he mentioned that now that the clan heiress was of marriageable age, there were several noble families with advantageous connections and young men of suitable age he had in mind, which he would _conveniently forget_ if you were to accept his offer. And when he started sending you on Class SS missions…”

“Eh? There’s a rank above S?”

“No, not any more. Yoruichi-san abolished it almost as soon as she became the overall commander for the Onmitsukidō.”

“Of course I did. Tsuzuki, do you know what the ‘S’ in a Class S mission stands for?”

“Uh, ‘super-difficult’, right? So SS would be ‘super-super-difficult’?”

“Technically true, but that’s not what it’s better known as.”

“What is it, then?”

“ _Solo Suicide._ ”

_“Are you insane?”_

_“Well, Seishin-dono did say the other missions didn’t seem to be challenging enough for someone of my calibre.”_

_“And you believed him? I’ve never known you to be arrogant, Kisuke.”_

_“Well, it would be good to test myself.”_

“And it got progressively worse from there onwards.”

_“Did you even read the mission brief for this one?”_

_“Yes, Yoruichi-san. I did.”_

_“And yet you somehow failed to notice the part where it specifically said, ‘target has a penchant for exotic-looking children’? What the hell, Kisuke? No mission is worth your virginity!”_

_“Actually, Yoruichi-san, that part’s no longer true.”_

_“… what?”_

_“You do remember what shūdo instruction normally includes, right?”_

“We grew further apart, in those ensuing years – I didn’t understand why Kisuke kept on taking some of the _vilest_ missions, and every time I asked, he’d fend me off with a smile and some non-answer. It wasn’t until – it was a total accident, I wasn’t even meant to be there, which was probably why I overheard it in the first place…”

_“– your next mission will be to infiltrate this posse of serial killers that has been roaming about Rukongai lately, ambushing nobles during their travels.”_

_“Yes sir.”_

_“I trust that you know the price if you fail to succeed, do you not?”_

_“Yes sir.”_

_“After all, the princess has been growing steadily more radiant by the day lately. Would be such a shame if I had to assign such a mission to her, don’t you agree?”_

“Overheard what?”

“That the reason why Kisuke’s been doing these missions – that, all along, he’d been trying to –”

_“Why didn’t you tell me?”_

_“… Yoruichi-san? What are you doing here?”_

_“I need you to stop lying to me, Kisuke. I need you to look me in the eye and tell me the truth – are you doing this because of me?”_

_“I’m afraid I don’t understand –”_

_“Kisuke.”_

_“…”_

_“Just nod or shake your head.”_

“What Yoruichi-san is trying to say is, Seishin-dono used his position as my mentor to preferentially assign certain difficult missions to me, with the full understanding that if I fail to complete them, he would be assigning them to Yoruichi-san next.”

“He wanted you _dead_ , Kisuke – without you, it would be so easy to get to me, perhaps a tragic accident of some sort, one that wouldn’t be out of place for a bewildered young girl in mourning for her best friend, and then he could be clan head in actual fact instead of just the regent. And thus, knowing this, at age 121 I became the youngest Executive Militia commander in history.”

_“Congratulations on your promotion, Yoruichi-san.”_

_“Yeah. Also, I’m instating a new rule – all Class SS missions now require an assigned handler. One guess as to who yours is.”_

_“Yoruichi-san…”_

_“Shut up, you don’t get a say in this, Kisuke. I've told you before, haven't I? I’ve promised to take care of you, and no matter what happens from now onwards, that's not a promise I’m ever going to break. If Seishin wants us dead, he’s going to have to work for it.”_

“It worked, for a while. But then Seishin dug up some archaic precedent from somewhere – we’ve no idea where, it pre-dated even the founding of the Gotei Thirteen – that stated if an acting clan head for a period of no less than sixty years is found to be of admirable aptitude, then he may choose to petition to legitimise his own position and designate his own heir.”

_“Katsuo’s going to be instated as the new clan heir in a month’s time.”_

_“I heard.”_

_“And then Seishin’s coup will be complete.”_

_“I’m aware.”_

_“Without the position of clan heiress to protect me, I’m nothing more than a useful political bargaining chip he’s going to auction off to the highest bidder. And without a competent mission handler, you’re going to be dead before your next birthday.”_

_“Probably.”_

_“It’s impossible to get a reaction out of you, nowadays, and as much as I understand why – are you really going to let it end like this? The boy who disabled a tracking seal he’d never seen before in thirty minutes, who finished the whole Academy curriculum in just two months – are you really satisfied with this, Kisuke? You’re not even going to try to fight back?”_

_“It doesn’t matter, Yoruichi-san. Whatever we do, as long as Seishin-dono remains in power –”_

_“That’s it.”_

_“Yoruichi-san?”_

_“So long as Seishin remains in power. So what if we oust him from power? What if I Cry challenge?”_

_“You’re only a hundred and forty, how would you Cry cha – Yoruichi-san, are you telling me that you’ve achieved bankai?”_

_“… no. At least, not yet. Not without your help.”_

_“You want me to get you bankai in thirty days?”_

_“… yeah, that’s a bit much, isn’t it. How about three days, then?”_

“We came up with this plan borne out of desperation – I have thirty days to achieve bankai, and then challenge Seishin in front of the full council for the position of clan head.”

_“If there is any within this clan who can show just cause against the formalisation of this man as official clan head, speak up now or else thereafter for ever hold your peace.”_

_The doors to the council chamber slammed open. Into the ringing silence, a single voice was heard._

_“Yes, me. My name is Shihōin Yoruichi Shunshin, and I Cry challenge.”_

_“The council recognises current-heiress Yoruichi, and wishes to know on what grounds she justifies her challenge.”_

_“On the grounds that I possess bankai, and I have every reason to believe that Seishin-dono does not.”_

“It wasn’t a perfect solution, we had to make many concessions – Yoruichi-san had to resign from her post as Executive Militia commander, and confine her activities to Seireitei except in the rare cases where her presence was legally required elsewhere. And, of course, there were many who expressed their concerns at having a clan head who was only half-trained for the position, since Seishin-dono didn’t bother to continue her training after the passing of her parents. But it was the best outcome we could have hoped for, under the circumstances, and we had the unvoiced support of most of the younger generations – several from the older generations, too; I’ve always had my suspicions that Shūko-sama was pleased by this turn of affairs.”

“So now you know.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Now then, you said something about wanting to visit Yukimaru?”

~*~*~*~*~

He rolled over at the sound of the door sliding open and then closing.

“Urahara Kisuke, actually in bed. Now this is a rare sight.”

Kisuke smiled, very slightly, knowing that Yoruichi would have no trouble spotting it in the darkness with the acuity of her eyesight. “Same back at you, Yoruichi-san.”

“I take it that Tsuzuki’s gone, then?” A pair of large luminous eyes blinked, coming closer all the while, but it wasn’t until she padded onto his futon that he could see the black cat outlined against the stark white covers.

“Yeah, I lent him one of the reiatsu-concealing cloaks and led him to that blind spot during the patrol change, he should be well on his way by now. Probably going to stay out the whole night, too – told him there’s no need to hurry back.”

There was a moment of near-silence, punctuated only by the soft swish of a tail against cotton.

“And what about you?” Yoruichi finally asked. “Worked off all that excess energy pretty quickly, I see.”

Kisuke tilted his head downwards, trying to see why she was taking so long to settle down. “Well, just like you’ve said, it’s only grass this time.” His dark vision wasn’t that good, but it looked like she might be kneading at the covers.

“You glossed over a lot in your explanation.” There was no censure in her voice, but it was still the work of a moment to tamp down the instinct to defend himself.

“He didn’t need to know.” Not yet, at least. Not for a long time, if he had any say in it – which he was willing to admit to himself that he didn’t.

“That kind of policy has the tendency to come back and bite you in the ass, Kisuke.” Giving up the futon for lost, Yoruichi climbed onto the pillow instead, until her eyes were like glowing saucers inches away from his face.

She would be one to know, of course. If her parents hadn’t elected to keep her in the dark about the political struggle within the clan, they might have been able to catch on to Seishin’s machinations faster, maybe even find another solution that had more tact than ‘beat it to death with a blunt instrument’.

“He’s not going to think any differently of you the moment he finds out, you know that. He didn’t turn on his father when he found out – with the worst timing, no less – that Isshin was a shinigami; he didn’t turn on Ukitake when he found out about the true purpose of his Combat Pass. After all that he’s seen, he’s hardly going to bat an eyelid at the less savoury details of your past.”

She wasn’t stating anything he didn’t already know, and that wasn’t even all to it. Aizen Sōsuke had the insidious ability to ferret out a person’s deepest darkest secrets, and to wield them as easily as he did his zanpakutō. He’d even witnessed, with his own eyes, what hiding the truth from Ichigo could do – how the enemy could hurl those bitter truths like razor-sharp spears, and each time he could feel the teenager’s heart waver for the slightest moment before snapping back on course.

Everything was pointing to the fact that he should just lay himself bare for Tsuzuki, and remove psychological warfare from the enemy’s already far-too-extensive arsenal; and yet, he couldn’t make the words come earlier, even as the waves of memories were closing over him.

“I’m trying, Yoruichi-san,” he whispered into the darkness, and pretended he was alone. Perhaps, had it been anyone else, he might have flashed them a disarming grin and spun an elaborate web of words to side-track them, but not to her. Never to her again.

She was sitting so close that he could see the flick of her tail in the gloom. “Yeah, I know, which is why I didn’t say anything earlier. But I’m bringing it up now, because I also know that there’s a tiny fragment of you that’s hoping he’d turn on you for it, to validate its belief that you’re exactly the sort of person you’ve never wanted to become.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“Kisuke, stop punishing yourself, you didn’t start this damned war.”

“What do you want me to say, Yoruichi-san?” he hissed. “I’m not omniscient. I make mistakes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” she countered immediately.

“Mine cost us the _whole war_.”

Yoruichi paused, tail swishing in agitation, but it didn’t take her long to retort, “But, in case you haven’t realised it yet, none of those mistakes _matter_ anymore. Don’t even pretend you haven’t spent the past four years, ten years, a _hundred_ years wishing that you could have done something differently, because I know _I_ have.”

When he didn’t say anything, she continued on. “Instead of dwelling on all your past mistakes, how about you focus your energy on _fixing_ them all instead? I know that you’ve already considered all the possible scenarios, but it’s like what Tsuzuki said on our first day here: Aizen has not fused with the Hōgyoku yet, and we’ve got a genuine fighting chance this time.”

“What’s Yoruichi-san going to fix?”

“Me?” She gave a sharp bark of laughter, which sounded distinctively odd coming from a cat. “I’m going to start off by being the kind of older sister to Suì-Fēng that I’ve always wished I had been. Actually be a proper clan head this time, instead of treating it like a position I was forced to take because I had no other choice. Stop taking you for granted.”

“Me?” he couldn’t help but ask, because that wasn’t something he’d ever thought she might regret. “What about me?”

If she had been human, Yoruichi’s eyebrow would almost certainly be climbing into her eyebrow now. “Well, let’s see – nominating you for the captaincy proficiency test without asking you first, for starters. I might have been trying to get you out of Seishin’s sphere of influence the only way I knew how back then, but all I really ended up doing was forcing you to trade one untenable situation for another – possibly worse, since Seishin was at least the evil you knew how to handle. We ended up growing so distant that I couldn’t even tell you were going to go after your lieutenant the night of the Hollowfication.”

“That wasn’t because we had grown distant,” Kisuke protested automatically. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d insist on coming with me.”

“Yeah, this is what I’m talking about.” Yoruichi made a huff of disgust, whiskers quivering. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me. I don’t get to make those decisions for you. Haven’t we both had our choices taken from us for far too long already?”

She sat back on her haunches, scratching at her fur idly with a paw. “And then I think I’m going to grow out my hair again. Can’t have my own heir wearing his hair longer than mine, and making him cut his would totally send the wrong message.”

Kisuke’s eyebrows shot up. “Yoruichi-san…”

It might be different for civilians and children, but for a warrior, having long hair was a sign of confidence in your own capabilities. This was a custom borne out of practicality – after all, what fighter worth their salt would provide the opponent with such a handy grip, unless they were also sure that the opponent wouldn’t be able to grab it in the first place? It was why anyone with eyes would never dare to dismiss Ukitake Jūshirō out of hand, no matter how gentle or frail he seemed, for any warrior who dared to wear his hair in long unbound waves must certainly have the skill to back up his claim.

For Yoruichi-san to announce her intention to grow out her hair, even knowing how unusual it would be for her at this point in time… this was a sign that she’d decided to do what she wanted to do, no matter what other people _thought_ she should do. And truly, he could see the appeal. They’d already behaved so differently from the children they used to be that everyone from Yūshirō to the elders had noticed; there was no point in trying to keep up a pretence.

He’d just have to get with the program.

It was then that he suddenly noticed what she’d been doing for the past few minutes while he was thinking.

“Yoruichi-san… I know we just spent all that time rehashing the past, but you do remember that we haven’t slept together for, oh, about a hundred and twenty years, right?”

“Well,” said the black cat, busy kneading a little nest into the futon, “since we seem to have gone back in time for about a hundred and twenty years, that’s not a problem is it.” With a satisfied flick of her tail, she burrowed into the covers.

~*~*~*~*~

_The next morning…_

Tsuzuki slid the door shut again, glad that he’d thought to be quiet this time.

He’d almost forgotten, bonds like this… this was the kind of thing he’d sworn to protect.

_Rukia, Renji, Inoue, Chad, everyone… this time, I promise, I’ll defeat Aizen before he destroys your lives again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q: What sisters?  
> A: I present to you, night-one and dusk-four, and hereby rest my case.
> 
> Shihōin siblings:  
> \- Yoruichi (夜一) i.e. night one [currently aged 148 / 281]  
> \- Shoji (曙二) i.e. dawn two [deceased]  
> \- Asami (朝三) i.e. morning three [deceased]  
> \- Yūshirō (夕四郎) i.e. dusk four(th-son) [currently aged 86]


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shinigami school was very similar to high school, he was starting to find.

It was the clash of a tornado against a tsunami, two unopposable forces of nature whirling across the obsidian landscape. The ground veined blue where they struck it, again and again, but as though it had been designed to weather the seismic shocks there wasn’t so much as a tiny crack. It was probably a good thing; who knew what would happen if they ended up breaking their own mindscape.

And when it was all over, two figures lay prone on the ground, grinning breathlessly at each other.

“I’ve got to go.”

Yukimaru shifted the arm over his eyes, an evil smirk stretching across his face. “Have fun at school, Tsuki- _nii_.”

He’d retort, but the world was already fading to black.

~*~*~*~*~

Tsuzuki opened his eyes to a wall of pulsing orange light, which was completely unexpected and also a little worrisome.

“You were leaking reiatsu,” remarked the black cat perched next to his futon, as though hearing his unvoiced question.

His hand automatically went to the pendant that hung around his neck, a gift from Kisuke that he’d never taken off since the day it was presented to him. Smooth wood met his fingers, just as expected, and he didn’t need to look down to know that the carved figure was right where it was supposed to be. And yet, even as he watched, a tendril of his reiatsu lashed against the barrier, spitting black sparks in the brief moment before the barrier managed to absorb it.

“Is this thing not working again?”

Somehow, Yoruichi could form an exasperated expression, even as a cat. “That’ll be the third reiatsu limiter you’ve broken in four years; I’ll have a word with Kisuke, if he’s been skimping on the materials –”

“No, that’s not it,” interrupted Tsuzuki. “I think… I think my reserves are growing _again_ , if that’s even possible?”

Yoruichi sighed deeply and dismissed the kidō barrier with a careless wave of a paw. “Given that it’s you? I’d say that nothing you can do will surprise me anymore.” She stood up, padding over to the door. “Get dressed, you’re due at the Academy in two hours.”

Left alone in his room for the moment, he rolled up his futon with long-ingrained habit, stashing it in the cupboard next to his wardrobe. Stripping off his sleep robe next, a glint of light caught his eye. The carved head of a cat, with real emeralds in place of its eyes, rested against his sternum, looking for all the world like nothing more than an innocuous piece of clan-themed jewellery.

No one would realise it was a reiatsu limiter; Tsuzuki himself was _wearing_ the thing and most of the time he didn’t even remember it was there. It was a far cry from the first few attempts Kisuke had whipped up post-haste, some kind of patch modelled off what Mayuri had done for Zaraki Kenpachi. Having something continuously sucking away his reiatsu the moment he emitted it was ridiculously uncomfortable, like a giant leech permanently clinging onto his skin. He had no idea how Zaraki put up with it.

And yet, after that fiasco during his first few weeks at the Shihōin Manor, it was clear that he needed something to help with his lack of control. Couldn’t go about bowling people over with the sheer force of his reiatsu every time he was taken by surprise after all, even if those boys had deserved it. _Who_ snuck into someone else’s room in the middle of the night without nefarious intentions?

_“Should stand up to a cursory glance or two.”_

_“And what if someone decides to look closer?”_

_Kisuke snapped his fan, hiding his smirk behind the paper construct. “You’re not even in the Academy, and you’re already displaying lieutenant-level reiatsu. Who do you think would believe that you’re wearing a limiter on top of that?”_

His right eye twitched faintly as he contemplated Kisuke’s reaction. Luckily – or unluckily – his mentor was already at work, whereas Tsuzuki had gotten the morning off to prepare for his Academy placement tests. Kisuke had been _very_ vocal on what he’d do if Tsuzuki broke another reiatsu limiter.

Oh no.

(Maybe if he offered to do Kisuke’s paperwork for a week?)

~*~*~*~*~

Just like she’d said at his debut party, Yoruichi hadn’t enrolled him in the Academy immediately. Over Tsuzuki’s outraged protests, she had simply raised an eyebrow, crossed her arms over her chest, and asked, “Well, if you saw Aizen Sōsuke on the street tomorrow, what will you do?”

He’d shut up.

“Right now, you can’t even look Suì-Fēng-san in the eye, and she’s not someone you’re particularly close to,” Kisuke added from the side, ducking his head apologetically when Tsuzuki glared at him. “We can’t have you flinching every time you catch sight of, say, Shinji-san.”

So instead of charging straight into the situation as Kurosaki Ichigo would have done – _had_ done, once upon a time, had done and _lost everything_ – Tsuzuki gritted his teeth and bided his time. He wasn’t a hot-headed teenager anymore; he wouldn’t let himself be so easily manipulated anymore.

He wouldn’t let anyone else die because of his own ineptitude anymore.

_“I’m not going to teach you how to fight,” Kisuke said on the first day of his mentorship._

_“What?”_

_Kisuke raised both eyebrows, tilting his head slightly in mock confusion. “My, Tsuzuki-san, I never knew you had such a low opinion of yourself.”_

_Tsuzuki huffed out a breath, a little amused despite himself. “Fine. Then what –”_

_“I’m going to teach you how to win.” The fan snapped open, and Tsuzuki should probably be vaguely concerned by the way his own lips were stretching to match the slightly maniacal grin on the blond’s face, but oh well._

It wasn’t to say that they _never_ fought – the mere thought of the word “training” now made his muscles ache – but rather that Kisuke simply didn’t bother forcing him to learn any of the textbook styles, like any regular mentor would have done. He’d always known the blond had the potential to be a brilliant teacher – after all, this was the man who trained a human teenager who’d never touched a sword in his life to take down Zaraki Kenpachi in _three days_ – but he never quite appreciated how much more effective Kisuke could be when time and resources were on their side.

Of course, given Urahara Kisuke’s usual Methods of Insanity, the training didn’t come without any drawbacks. Tsuzuki honestly couldn’t say whether it was for the better or the worse, that his nightmares now prominently featured chirping of those be-damned nightingale floors. Who even thought of installing retractable senbon launchers in those things? And then, after he’d _finally_ managed to learn to track them automatically with his peripheral vision, his crazy mentor decided it was the perfect time to add some new Machinations of Doom.

Well, at least all that training _worked_. He could sort of sense reiatsu now.

Sort of, in that he could pick up strong intent directed at him and estimate rough numbers, but nothing more sophisticated than that. It was probably to be expected, Kisuke told him, given the sheer amount of reiatsu he possessed.

For a normal shinigami, they would subconsciously compare the reiatsu they could sense to their own levels, and gauge the other's reiatsu pressure from there. But to a “raging waterfall”, all streams looked about the same size. Tsuzuki could somewhat sense positions if he concentrated – how many streams there were and where they were, and to some extent match up reiatsu signatures with their owners if he was familiar with them – but not how much reiatsu someone had unless it was being actively used for bankai or other reiatsu-intensive techniques.

Four long years of training.

He was finally ready.

~*~*~*~*~

It was now muscle memory to pull his hair up into a ponytail. Tsuzuki made a face at the mirror, trying to affix an approximation of Byakuya’s – the future one, not the little brat he was now – mask onto his face – oh, whatever. So long as he tried to keep the scowling to a minimum, that should count, right?

The Academy was in the north-western corner of Seireitei, in a compound completely separated from the rest of the Gotei. Students were largely confined to the grounds, although the upper years and nobles had more leeway, especially on rest days. Or they could always sneak out, as Yoruichi and Kisuke (amongst no doubt plenty others) used to do.

Even without using shunpo, it didn’t take him long to reach the gates, where he was met by a portly, well-dressed old man.

“Good morning, I am Shihōin Tsuzuki, here to take the placement tests for the Academy.” Tsuzuki remembered to bow formally, hands clasped before him.

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and bowed back in acknowledgement. “Good morning, Shihōin Tsuzuki-san. I am Ōnabora Gengorō, the Director of this humble Academy, and it is my honour to conduct the placement tests for today. Please follow me.”

He was led down a corridor that ended in an ornate dojo – probably the instructors’ private dojo, because there was no way regular students would be allowed to practise in something as finely decorated as this one – the cost of rebuilding each time someone accidentally destroyed something would be astronomical. Tatami mats had been laid out on the floor, and there was already a small crowd of spectators forming. Tsuzuki frowned, but didn’t let his steps pause. Wasn’t he the only student to be tested today? Was it really _that_ interesting?

Some of them, he recognised. Yoruichi was obviously present, Suì-Fēng her constant shadow. Kisuke must have come straight from work; he was dressed in the standard shinigami uniform, unadorned by any form of insignia that would indicate his rank. Isshin was standing next to them, for some reason – he wondered how his father had talked his way into observing the Academy placement test of a random student, of all things. Maybe the Tenth Division captain was really laid-back? Or maybe he’d managed to argue his way into observing the heir of a fellow True First clan, like Kuchiki Ginrei and Sōjun over there?

What _was_ surprising, however, was the presence of a number of representatives from other divisions, among them Kyōraku, Ukitake, and Unohana. And – Tsuzuki felt a chill go up his spine – Aizen Sōsuke himself.

He was glad, now, that Yoruichi had forced him to wait four years, because his reiatsu barely even twitched at the sight of the Fifth Division lieutenant, and even that could be easily explained away by surprise at the presence of the elder captains.

Tsuzuki only heard Aizen vaguely as the other explained to a curious Kyōraku that Shinji – _Hirako-taichō_ – had asked him to observe the Shihōin heir’s first debut in public. It really didn’t matter to him personally what reasons Aizen gave; all it mattered was that he was there. And he was a little happy, too, for Aizen’s presence: there was simply no question that he was going to put up a good show now. Ōnabora might be bigger and more muscular than him, but it was obvious that his movements lacked the subconscious grace of a battle-hardened veteran.

“First, we will be testing your skills in hakuda,” Ōnabora explained as he dropped into a battle-ready stance. “Come!”

Barely before the older man finished his call, Tsuzuki was already in the air, springing for Ōnabora’s stomach. The world narrowed down to a single focus, the spectators vanishing from his peripheral vision – even Aizen, because Aizen wasn’t the enemy right now, wasn’t going to attack him in front of half the Gotei senior officers, _didn’t even know who he was_ –

A muscle tensed in Ōnabora’s abdomen.

It was but the matter of a split-second’s thought to redirect the angle of his body to avoid the knee snapping up towards his chin, the new placement of his arms allowing him two quick jabs at Ōnabora’s vital points, more for assessment than truly seeking to hurt. The exchange complete, he sprang back before Ōnabora could counter, settling into a slightly more defensive stance in case the other man should pursue.

Ōnabora didn’t disappoint, dashing forwards at a speed that was probably meant to be impressive to an actual new student, but against someone who regularly sparred with masters of hakuda? Tsuzuki blocked each of the testing blows casually, not giving an inch of ground even as Ōnabora pressed on relentlessly. Each hit wasn’t particularly fast, by his own standards, but had a substantial amount of force behind it.

His eyes narrowed.

No, Ōnabora was ever-so-slowly increasing his pace, trying to see if Tsuzuki could match him.

Just as he’d come to that conclusion, Ōnabora let up in his onslaught, inclined his head briefly, and disappeared in a whisper of air. Tsuzuki snapped his head around, eyes easily tracking the slow shunpo, leg already extended to block Ōnabora’s high kick even as his own arm snaked out in a lightning quick punch that Ōnabora barely avoided.

He saw the director’s eyes widen, though what conclusion he’d drawn Tsuzuki couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, Ōnabora clearly decided that he’d seen enough.

“Stop.”

Tsuzuki instantly pulled back his arm and stood at attention, breathing in and out deeply but otherwise none the worse for wear.

“Next, zanjutsu.”

His wooden training bokken was leaning at the side of the dojo – an identical twin to the one Katsuo broke four years ago, in fact; Tsuzuki didn't want to think too hard about where Kisuke was magicking them up from – and settled into the beginning position of his first kata. He ignored the appraising glances from the gathered shinigami with ease. They’d soon figure out, like all those newly-minted Arrancar that used to swarm him during the war, that just because Tensa Zangetsu wasn’t flashy or big, it didn’t mean it was harmless.

Ōnabora returned to the centre of the room with a standard bokken, the kind issued to all Academy students who had not yet been issued asauchi.

“Begin.”

Instead of charging forward this time, Tsuzuki simply waited, eyes sweeping across Ōnabora’s body. He could see that the examiner was visibly confused at his behaviour, but it was up to Tsuzuki to make the first move, and he intended to make it _count_.

The clear crisp sound of wood ringing against wood rang out in the deafening silence.

At the visible shock splashed across Ōnabora’s face, Tsuzuki allowed himself a tiny smirk. He’d come to learn, over the years, that most shinigami relied too much on their reiatsu sense, and not enough on their five physical senses. A desk-bound shinigami like Ōnabora wouldn’t have been any different. So if he didn’t use any reiatsu, it was almost too easy to take someone by surprise the first time.

He’d gained Ōnabora’s full concentration.

And now, it was time for something a little different. Tsuzuki twisted sideways, reining in his reiatsu closer to his body, until he could almost feel the thin shell settle over his skin. Carefully, carefully, he opened the reiatsu vents in his ankles a touch wider, and then – with a single explosive step – he was behind Ōnabora, his bokken lightly tapping on the director’s neck.

Ōnabora audibly gasped, turning his head back and forth just in time to see the ‘Tsuzuki’ standing on the other end – really, just a leftover shell of reiatsu held together by some creative applications of hohō – vanish into a scattering of particles.

“Way of Onmitsu, third of the Shihō: Utsusemi.”

Trusting that the demonstration was sufficient for the hohō portion of the test, Tsuzuki removed his bokken from Ōnabora’s neck and stepped back, bowing deeply. The director bowed back, apparently on autopilot.

~*~*~*~*~

Yoruichi smirked at her heir’s performance. Kisuke had definitely brought out his full potential well; the fluid, almost unconscious grace Tsuzuki now fought with and the calculating gleam in his eye was a far cry from Ichigo’s charge-in-and-start-bashing street brawl style. Hakuda hadn’t been the boy’s weakness – years of karate lessons and being picked on by bullies had ensured that his style, while aesthetically unappealing, was at least effective – but he hadn’t been a match for masters like Suì-Fēng.

Until she and Kisuke got their hands on him, anyway.

Ooooh, that was definitely going to leave a nasty bruise. She wasn’t the slightest bit surprised that Ōnabora had decided to call the hakuda match: although it looked like he’d managed to avoid Tsuzuki’s last punch there, anyone paying attention – which was to say, everyone in the dojo – would have seen the tiny flare of reiatsu at Tsuzuki’s wrist, turning what would have been a miss into a glancing blow.

External reiatsu enhancement wasn’t even normally taught in the Academy; maybe the sixth year advanced class would go through the theory, but definitely not the majority of the students. It took a certain degree of finesse and/or an excess of reiatsu to emit sufficient quantities of reiatsu to physically manifest one’s reiatsu as an extension of one’s body, something that would be impossible to master for the majority of shinigami.

Yoruichi snorted. _Of course_ Tsuzuki had to do _everything_ backwards.

She gave an absent approving hum as Tsuzuki closed the distance between him and Ōnabora in a single leap. Good work there, presuming and then taking advantage of Ōnabora’s inexperience. The director was so lucky this wasn’t a real assassination attempt.

Ukitake turned to Kyōraku, exclaiming something she didn’t bother listening to – the tone made it obvious he was talking about Tsuzuki. Yoruichi resisted the urge to preen. Really now, did they think the term “Shihōin-fast” only applied to her shunpo?

How cute.

And a finish with Utsusemi, one of her very own inventions, born from a mixture of sheer boredom and an annoyance at the narrow-mindedness of hohō instructors in the Academy. The name did sound a little pretentious now that she’s hearing it from an outsider’s point of view, but hey, she was barely a hundred at the time, she was allowed some leeway.

There was no hint of exasperation on Tsuzuki’s face when he recited the technique’s full name out loud, but then, he was used to bellowing out far more embarrassing things. Just look at who she’d saddled him with (or was it saddled Kisuke with him? Saddled them with each other? If they didn’t have such a strong rapport from the start they’d probably have murdered each other long ago.)

Maybe she’d show it to Byakuya-bo this time around too. The memory of his face, red like a ripe tomato, pouncing fruitlessly upon the dozens of afterimages she’d flooded the courtyard with – that was definitely something she wanted to see again.

Yoruichi cackled to herself.

~*~*~*~*~

The kidō portion of the test took place in another part of the Academy, where there was a row of targets lined up.

“Perform any five Bakudō or Hadō spells on the targets, two of which must be Bakudō and another two Hadō,” instructed Ōnabora.

Tsuzuki nodded slowly, mind already racing. Yoruichi had already discussed it at length with him over breakfast, lightly testing the limits of his shaky reiatsu control. Of all the days to break his limiter…

It wasn’t precisely that he needed the crutch, but it wasn’t like he could open with three level eighty kidō spells, not when his Shakkahō still had the tendency to backfire. Or maybe _that_ was because he’d gotten the chant wrong again – hey, it wasn’t his fault, half those chants sound around the same!

There was no way he could explain away only being able to perform powerful kidō, not unless he wants a one-way ticket into an interrogation chamber. Whoever heard of a kid with over three times as much reiatsu as a regular captain?

Thank goodness he’d already expended a significant portion of his reiatsu on the morning spar with Yukimaru, or he’d probably accidentally blow up the courtyard.

Taking a deep breath, he incanted clearly, “Hadō no ichi, Shō!”

A wave of reiatsu emanated from his outstretched finger, slamming into the target and completely obliterating it. Tsuzuki winced.

Not good. Really not good; he just wasn’t _used_ to having more reiatsu at his fingertips now, and trying to dampen down random runaway tendrils while making sure he only gathered the miniscule fragment required to power the spell was stretching his multi-tasking abilities to the limit.

‘ _Relax. Don’t fight against your reiatsu._ ’ Kisuke’s voice was suddenly in his head, echoing hollowly.

Tsuzuki drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Well, if his mentor said so. Personally he didn’t see how _relaxing_ was supposed to help with his control, not when he still had the alarming tendency to leak reiatsu like some kind of sieve, but it wasn’t like Kisuke had ever steered him wrong before.

“Disintegrate, you black dog of Rondanini! Look upon yourself with horror and then claw out your own throat! Bakudō no kyū, Geki!” Drawing the three symbols in the air, Tsuzuki’s body briefly glowed red before the red energy engulfed the next hapless wooden target.

Glancing sideways, he spotted Ōnabora nodding slowly in approval.

Now for the hardest part.

“Ye lord! Mask of blood and flesh, all creation, flutter of wings, ye who bears the name of Man! Inferno and pandemonium, the sea barrier surges, march on to the south! Hadō no sanjū-ichi, Shakkahō!” An orb of crimson energy formed from his palm, and this time it was exactly the size he wanted it to be. Thank kami for small miracles. It blasted out from his palm and slammed dead centre into the wooden target, drilling through the bullseye and fizzing out on the other size. Inspecting the target cursorily, Tsuzuki breathed a sigh of relief at the slightly charred edges of the hole he had created. The Shakkahō was an Academy staple, and he’d probably have failed the entire kidō test if he couldn’t get that right.

His next and last compulsory binding spell was one of Suì-Fēng’s favourites, which she had rather reluctantly taught him. He would do her proud. “Bakudō no sanjū, Shitotsu Sansen!” He maneuvered the burst of crackling yellow reiatsu in his palm into the shape of an inverted yellow triangle, which in turn generated solidified energy in the shape of triangles from the three points of the inverted triangle. The spell flew forth, the solidified triangles slamming into place on three points of the wooden target, knocking it over.

It _really_ helped that he didn’t need to remember a chant for that one.

His compulsory four kidō complete, Tsuzuki turned to the examiner. “I would like to request a barrier to demonstrate my last kidō.”

~*~*~*~*~

Yoruichi’s eyebrows shot up. So this was what Tsuzuki had in mind when he told her that he had an idea for his last kidō test, and specifically asked what levels of kidō he should realistically demonstrate. But of course.

They’d been in a war last time, and there’d been no time to try and catch him up with the basics. The little kidō Tsuzuki knew from back then were of the quick and dirty type, the kind where he could just bulldoze through the intricacies of the spell by overloading it with his massive reiatsu reserves.

Just like his shikai technique, Kurosaki Ichigo used to sunder the heavens with War Kidō of the like that hadn’t been seen in the streets of Soul Society since the First Quincy Wars.

Did he even know a single kidō spell classified under number sixty before he came back in time?

Ōnabora looked supremely serene despite the unusual request – likely Tsuzuki had surprised him enough today. “Bakudō no hachijū-ichi, Danku,” he incanted, and a translucent barrier in the form of a large rectangular wall appeared, shielding the watchers.

“Sprinkled on the bones of the beast –”

Yoruichi hummed to herself. Oh, yes, he was definitely going for what they’d discussed, so the barrier should hold.

Probably.

“– move and become the wind, stop and become –”

Kisuke tipped the brim of his bucket hat upwards.

He was right to be mildly concerned, but it wasn’t like Tsuzuki was going for his personal favourite. Ōnabora might be a desk drone, but a level eighty Danku was still a level eighty Danku, and it _should_ hold against a mere level sixty-three –

“– Raikōhō!”

Yoruichi barely concealed an outward flinch as Tsuzuki thrust his palm outwards, the maelstrom of crackling yellow energy wreathing him suddenly condensing with purpose, a spear of lightning striking at the centre of the barrier almost too fast for even her eyes to keep up with.

Ōnabora staggered backwards from the onslaught, but the barrier held firm, not giving an inch until the staticky feeling in the air dissipated.

Some of the other bystanders patted at their arms, trying to get their hairs to lie back down again, and Yoruichi had to smother a smile at the sight. These people were so easily impressed; it was just a little Raikōhō, at nowhere near Tsuzuki’s full strength.

Well, to be fair, if he’d been using anywhere near his full strength, Kisuke would have needed to step in with an emergency barrier. Yeah, yeah, she knew the spiel about how a Danku barrier was supposed to hold up against any kidō ranked below ninety, blah blah blah, but the creators of this kidō clearly hadn’t taken Tsuzuki into account.

Oh, how she wished they could have seen Ichigo’s Hadō #88, Hiryū Gekizoku Shinten Raihō during the war. The size of a skyscraper, _that_ discharge of electrical and spiritual energy equivalent to that of a junior seated shinigami put even Tessai’s best efforts to shame, and that was without the incantation. Man, the looks on their faces would have been _brilliant_.

Kisuke twitched minutely. Maybe she should rein back the smug contentment in her reiatsu a little?

Wiping his brow, Ōnabora stepped back and bowed. “Thank you very much, Shihōin Tsuzuki-san, I believe this test has adequately demonstrated your skill level, and we will be issuing your class schedule during orientation.”

“Thank you very much,” Tsuzuki responded, bowing back. He turned away, and Yoruichi used the excuse of watching him approach to flick a quick glance at Aizen over on the other end of the peanut gallery.

_Are you watching, Aizen Sōsuke?_

Full of untapped potential, with a touch of headstrong naïveté: the megalomaniac’s favourite combination.

_Are you interested yet?_

~*~*~*~*~

Kisuke was already in the hideout under the Sōkyoku Hill when Tsuzuki and Yoruichi finally managed to make their way there, bent over some equipment in the laboratory section. He pulled his safety goggles off as they came nearer, and Tsuzuki gulped at the evil expression on his face.

“So, Tsuzuki- _chan_ , surely you heard me when I told you not to break another limiter, didn’t you?”

Tsuzuki barely caught the parcel being tossed at him, and unwrapped it with trepidation.

It was a hairband. With two cat-shaped ears.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” he shrieked, the hairband dangling from his grasp as far away from him as possible, as though it was poisonous. It wasn’t – Kisuke couldn’t have – not _another_ Headband of Justice!

“Careful now, wouldn’t want to break this one too, would you?” Kisuke admonished, smirking.

Over the sounds of Yoruichi busting up a lung, Tsuzuki twitched.

He must be leaking murderous intent by now, but Kisuke didn’t seem to even notice, practically sparkling. “You know, you’re at that age whereby you’re leaving home for the Academy, so don’t you want a memento of your dearest _onee-sama_ , who saved you from a life of hardship and abandonment in the streets of Rukongai?” He mimed wagging the cat ears.

Said onee-sama was now rolling around the floor in hysterical laughter, clutching at her stomach.

Tsuzuki snarled, dropping the hairband and leaping for Kisuke’s throat.

Still cackling, Kisuke blocked his lunge casually with one hand, using Tsuzuki’s reiatsu-enhanced momentum to toss the boy over his shoulder. Tsuzuki landed in a handstand, legs already sweeping at Kisuke’s upper body. Kisuke grabbed an ankle in midair, and _twisted_.

Instead of crying out in pain, Tsuzuki smoothly adapted his body to twist along with his leg, using Kisuke’s hold as leverage to pull himself towards the other man, fists blazing with reiatsu. Kisuke’s eyes widened, his other arm coming up to block against the fists, his own reiatsu levels rocketing in response. Despite cushioning the blow, the sting jarred his hold on Tsuzuki’s leg, so much so that he had to let the boy go.

Tsuzuki sprang back in a ready stance, eyes burning with murder. He was shocked, therefore, when Kisuke threw his head back and began to laugh again. The only thing stopping him from strangling the man with his bare hands was that the laughter was not mocking this time. Frowning, Tsuzuki dropped his battle stance and waited for the duo to finish… expressing their merriment.

“You are still way too easy to tease,” Kisuke snickered, finally getting his laughter under control.

The vein in his temple twitched violently, but Tsuzuki managed to resist the urge to throttle Kisuke – not that it would have worked, anyway, but it was nice to dream once in a while.

Still chortling lightly, Kisuke reached into his pocket – and withdrew another, smaller box. He opened the box to reveal a pendant identical to the one currently around Tsuzuki’s neck.

Oh, Kisuke was _definitely_ going down. “Then _what the hell is that_?” he yelled, pointing at the discarded hairband.

Kisuke stared at him as though he was going insane. Who knew, maybe he was. One had got to be somewhat insane to put up with this pair of idiots on a daily basis. “A hairband with fluffy cat ears,” the former shopkeeper informed him, ducking Tsuzuki’s renewed attempts to wring his neck.

Yoruichi wandered over and picked it up. “I wonder if Suì-Fēng would like this?” she mused out loud.

~*~*~*~*~

“Welcome to the First Class,” Ōnabora announced, standing at the front of the classroom. “To be selected for this class means that your reiatsu levels are higher than average, and that we are expecting great things from you.” His gaze swept the entire room without pausing on Tsuzuki, for which he was glad. He didn’t want to be singled out on the first day of school… again.

His high school homeroom teacher just refused to believe his hair colour was natural, what could he do?

“Now, on to administrative matters: the Shinigami Academy is a six year boarding school, with a short break for harvest season. Students are sorted into practical classes according to ability, not age, and I’m sure many of you have heard by now that early graduation is an option. Promotion examinations are offered at the end of every term. Besides the compulsory classes, we also offer a variety of electives in the afternoons, of which you may freely sit in on for the first two weeks; after that, any decision is binding for the rest of the academic year.

The Academy operates on a rotation schedule that allows for one rest day after every six school days. Students are not permitted to leave the grounds on school days without special permission from a senior Gotei officer, but the library and communal training grounds are open round-the-clock, even on the rest day. Further details, including a map of the school, are available in your student handbook.

The commissary is located between the classrooms and the dormitories. The free section will be open from six to eight for breakfast, twelve to two for lunch, and six to nine for dinner. For those of you with money, you may be pleased to know that there is a separate section open from five in the morning until eleven at night. For those of you without money, you may be pleased to know that there are temporary job openings available year-round; check the noticeboard at the back of the commissary for details.

Come up to the front for your room assignments and student handbook, and you may have the rest of the morning off. All of you who have not taken the placement tests are to report back here at two in the afternoon; for those of you who already have done so, you are excused for the day. Class schedules will be issued by tomorrow morning, and there will be demonstrations by your seniors in the various electives until dinnertime.”

Whispers broke out almost as soon Ōnabora stepped away from the podium, a queue growing at the front of the room as instructed.

“Hey, good to see you!”

“Tests? They ain’t told us nothing ‘bout some _tests_!”

There was a handful of people still seated, some of whom seem to be waiting for the queue to clear, and Tsuzuki was glad for the excuse to hide a little. The only ones who should have already taken the placement tests were noble-born students, since they were most likely destined for one of the more advanced classes and the teachers needed to make sure all timetables were compatible. There probably wouldn’t be too many of them – in fact, he knew of just one other noble starting this year.

“Did you hear? There’s a _Shihōin_ in our class!”

“I heard he’s somebody super important! Like main branch or something!”

“ _No way!_ ”

“Yeah, definitely, my aunt’s friend – you know, the Twelfth Seat for Division Six? – said both her captain and lieutenant took half a day off to watch his placement tests.”

“Seriously?”

“Man, must be nice to get private tutoring before you even start –”

“Everybody knows, the nobles get bumped up to the senior classes right off the bat –”

“Better yet, anyone knows what he _looks_ like?”

Tsuzuki manfully resisted the urge to duck behind his rucksack, even as he subtly scanned the room to try and pinpoint the source. _That_ was one conversation he wanted to stay far, far away from –

Wait. His gaze slid back up the aisle, slower this time. Was that –

Hoshino Hideaki had his head propped up on one hand, the other idly flipping through a book, but his gaze was hovering somewhere near Tsuzuki’s head. As their eyes met, Hideaki quickly stifled a twitch of his lips, blinking furiously to cover the motion. No doubt he’d heard the exact same snatch of conversation, and clearly found it far more amusing than Tsuzuki did.

Tsuzuki narrowed his eyes.

Hideaki blanched a little, and then switched his attention hurriedly to the book he’d been pretending to read.

Well, he _probably_ wouldn’t be outed to the class from _that_ quarter.

~*~*~*~*~

To his relief, Ōnabora didn’t mention his name as he handed out the room assignments, even if Tsuzuki had purposely made sure he was last in line for that exact reason. He glanced down at the card in his hand – sector 1, hallway 2, room 5. Wherever _that_ was.

“Shihōin Tsuzuki-san,” called out Ōnabora before he could leave, and Tsuzuki glanced around sharply, only relaxing when he realised there was no one else in the room besides them. “A moment of your time, please.”

“Yes, Ōnabora-sensei?”

“I…” Ōnabora hesitated slightly, very slightly, but Tsuzuki had been specifically trained to pick up inconsistencies, and the way Ōnabora’s glance lowered ( _embarrassment_ , hissed Yoruichi’s voice in the back of his head, _or concealing a lie_ ) briefly lit up all the fight-or-flight centres in his hindbrain. “It is my understanding that you have been mentored by Urahara Kisuke-san.”

Tsuzuki blinked, mentally holding off on the instinct to tense up. “Yes?”

“Has he –” and that was definitely a nervous twitch there “– ah, provided you with any study materials for the Academy curriculum?”

Wait, what?

He very firmly shut off the alarm bells ringing at the back of his head, but it still took a few seconds to switch his brain over to a more mundane track. Study materials. Right – so, apparently Yoruichi _hadn’t_ been exaggerating about how Kisuke used to wreak havoc in the Academy.

Huh.

That was an unusual case; just about half the things she said needed to be taken with a grain – or occasionally a handful – of salt.

“Just the standard Academy textbooks, with some of the sections highlighted.” There, surely that was innocuous enough?

Ōnabora took the proffered textbook and flipped through it quickly, pausing here and there to read the annotations in the margins. Tsuzuki frowned at the emotions playing across his teacher’s face, but before he could begin to decipher them, the book was thrust back at him far too quickly to be completely natural.

“Thank you very much, Shihōin-san. You’re dismissed for the day.”

He responded in kind on autopilot, and then some instinct told him to dawdle just out of sight in the corridor for an additional moment.

He wasn’t disappointed. An impassioned wail emanated from the classroom a few minutes later.

“ _How did that man figure out all the exam questions before the school year has even started?_ ”

Tsuzuki ducked into the nearest alcove, covered his mouth with both hands, and started laughing helplessly.

~*~*~*~*~

Sector one of the dormitories was relatively easy to find, but hallway two was, apparently, _not_ the second corridor that branched off from the main passageway. Tsuzuki stared down at the card in his hand again, backtracking to the start of sector one. If he checked every single room down every single corridor, he’d reach his own someday, right?

There was also a suspicious lack of students in this sector, despite the fact that everyone had to be wandering about looking for their rooms. The First Class alone had about forty students, which meant there were nearly two hundred new students. Surely nobody in their right minds would be running about the whole school with all their belongings in tow? He hadn’t spent _that_ long in the classroom, so there ought to be someone around –

“Ano… Shi – uh, I mean, Tsuzuki-san?”

Speak of the devil.

He looked up from his card at the sound of Hideaki’s voice.

“What were you, uh, doing in the females’ section?”

Eh?

He glanced sharply back at the hallway he just exited from, but no, he wasn’t suffering from sudden memory lapses or inattention. There wasn’t a single indication on the walls that it was for females only. “What do you mean, females’ section?”

Hideaki blinked, and it was his turn to look confused. “Uh, it’s on the left side?”

Tsuzuki side-eyed him, but Hideaki didn’t seem like the kind of person to troll him just for fun, and they definitely didn’t know each other well enough to have that kind of camaraderie in any case. Maybe it was some Seireitei thing he was missing.

“So the males’ section is on the right side?” he asked, rather rhetorically, and started towards the second corridor branching from the _right_ side of the passageway.

Room five. Bingo.

The footsteps trailing behind him made it really obvious he wasn’t alone. “Seems like all the first year nobles are in the same hallway,” Hideaki offered carefully, following what sounded like at a respectful distance behind Tsuzuki. They hadn’t interacted too much before, but being the only two in the Five Great Noble Clans around Academy age – the next closest was Kaien, but he was also the Shiba Clan Head, and had a different set of duties – they were often shoved together at clan gatherings. He wouldn’t really call Hideaki a _friend_ , not the same way he’d classify Renji or Ikkaku or even Hisagi, but they weren’t complete strangers either.

Wait, he wasn’t expected to _share a room_ , was he?

Not that he had a problem with the idea of sharing a room, given that he’d already spent about a third of his life sharing his head, his living space, his closet, and occasionally his bed with a revolving door of shinigami at this point – but. There were also _some people_ in his life right now who had the annoying propensity for bursting unannounced into his bedroom. What were they going to do, knock his roommate out and dump him in the corridor every time either of them felt like dropping by?

Then Hideaki moved past him to a different door, and Tsuzuki breathed out a mental sigh of relief.

“See you later,” Hideaki called, unlocking his own door.

Tsuzuki responded in kind, shutting the door firmly behind him, and managed to take three steps into his room before he froze.

There was a black cat sunning herself on his desk.

He felt like he should probably be more surprised by this, but honestly, the only thing that popped into his mind was, “Should I check if there’s a shinigami hiding in my closet?”

“Why would Kisuke be hiding in your closet?” asked the cat, tail swishing lazily, opening one bright golden eye.

“Knowing the two of you?” Tsuzuki took a few cautious steps into the room, and then belatedly remembered to double-check the ceiling just to be sure he wasn’t about to be ambushed from above. “The answer would probably range from ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’ to ‘he was annoying you again so you tied him up and shoved him into the closet’.”

It was _exceedingly_ odd to hear a full-bellied laugh from a cat, and Tsuzuki couldn’t help but flick a concerned glance over at the thin panelled wood separating him from the other students, even though he knew that Yoruichi had probably already set up a silencing ward ahead of time.

He hoped.

“Of course there’s a privacy ward,” Yoruichi sniffed, shooting him a haughty look that practically screamed ‘who do you think I am’ in large neon kanji.

Ignoring her, Tsuzuki opened the closet, making sure he was standing to one side first. Just in case. Thankfully, there wasn’t anything in there except the bedding, which he pulled out immediately.

“Tired?”

Tsuzuki didn’t even bother to look up at her, busy reassembling the futon. He _could_ sleep on the bare tatami mats, but some padding was always good and it didn’t even take him that long nowadays. Even if disassembling it every morning was still a pain.

Yoruichi certainly wasn’t offended by his lack of response to her rhetorical question. “I’m not surprised. You two only got back at, what, four in the morning?”

“Five,” he grunted. The eastern sky was definitely lightening by the time he managed to crawl into his futon, and it’d felt like no time had passed at all before Kisuke was shaking him awake to report to the Academy, shoving a ration bar into his hand.

_“Thought you’d rather get another half-hour in than breakfast,” the blond had said, his face swimming in and out of view. Tsuzuki had mumbled something he couldn’t remember, probably some variation of “Good morning”, and nearly walked into the wall instead of the bathroom entrance._

“Anything to report?”

Tsuzuki squinted at her. “No.” Wasn’t Kisuke supposed to be giving her reports, anyway? Did she seriously come all the way to the Academy just to ask him about some run-of-the-mill mission? Granted, it did run far longer than expected, but he could deal with a missed night’s sleep now and then, especially if he was about to rectify it… now.

“Hmph.” He could still hear the soft swish of her tail through the air, and then the lightest tap of paws against the wooden desk. “Sleep well, then.”

~*~*~*~*~

Tsuzuki opened his eyes to near-pitch darkness.

For a moment he lay still, staring at but not truly seeing the shafts of moonlight streaked across the wall opposite, wondering vaguely what had woken him up. And then his stomach made its displeasure loudly known.

Oh.

His second thought was to push himself up and glance around for the time – wait, no, _urgh_ , honestly? Four years, and his half-asleep brain _still_ hadn’t internalised the fact that personal alarm clocks didn’t exist in Seireitei yet. Tsuzuki turned towards the window instead, and the sight of the gibbous moon hanging in the night sky – not that he was really expecting anything else – made him groan. He might not be able to tell the exact time from the position of the moon, but it didn’t take a genius at astronomy to be able to put “well past sunset” and “early spring” together and get “way past dinnertime”.

Right. Now what was that thing about a ‘paid section of the commissary’ again?

… come to think of it, he wasn’t sure if he’d remembered to bring money.

Tsuzuki sighed, turning away from the window, and that was then his eyes caught on the misshapen lump sitting on his desk, which he could’ve sworn was empty before he fell asleep.

Well, empty save for Yoruichi.

A closer inspection revealed that it was a small drawstring pouch, bulging suspiciously, and he had to tamp down on the fond gratitude bubbling up in his chest. That conniving cat. Sure enough, it was filled to bursting with kan, definitely enough for – well, he had no idea how things were priced around here, but school was school, no matter which century, so there should be some kind of student-friendly pricing… in theory.

Snagging the pouch in one hand, he made towards the door, but the sudden slam of a door in the distance, followed by a burst of loud chatter made him hesitate. He didn’t really want to run into anyone on his first day.

Real shinigami didn’t use doors… if you believed Renji and Ikkaku. Time to see if that was true.

~*~*~*~*~

Leaving through the window was far easier than he’d half-expected, since all the rooms were on the ground floor. Or maybe he was just far too used to missions of much higher difficulty, like sneaking into Las Noches or well-guarded compounds.

He pulled out the map tucked into his sash pocket again, double-checking which way he was supposed to be going. The Academy was laid out rather simply, in something that resembled a square. The building housing the commissary was directly opposite the classrooms, so if he skirted around the long end of the dormitories, it’d be a shortcut.

The growling of his stomach prompted him to speed up into a light jog, but even the gnawing hunger couldn’t distract him from a sudden wave of killing intent rolling over him, his arms breaking out in goosebumps. It wasn’t a cold night, but he had to suppress a shiver anyway, before his own reiatsu washed away the remnants of foreign malevolent reiatsu clinging to his skin.

Tsuzuki stopped.

It wasn’t very strong killing intent; certainly, even Suì-Fēng at her current age could throw off far stronger killing intent than that (usually when Kisuke managed to rile her up about something). If he’d been in a spar or something, he probably wouldn’t even have noticed it – but this was the dorms, on the first day of school. He’d just… take a quick look.

Mind made up, Tsuzuki squeezed through the nearest gap between two buildings, headed in the direction of the source.

The raised voices made it fairly easy to find them.

“– here.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“A likely story.”

“I swear, it’s true, I really –”

“Think he needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Hey!” Tsuzuki yelled, because that sounded ominous. He rounded one last corner, and there were three boys standing in a loose circle, two of them holding a fourth boy down on his knees between them, the last one with his arms crossed over his chest. “What’s going on here?”

They all jerked around at the sound of his voice, and then the one who was holding court as though it was his due sneered, “Another one of your friends?” He didn’t look the slightest bit concerned about being found out, and neither did his two goons.

Tsuzuki gave the boy on the floor a proper look, and was forced to conclude, “Nope, never seen him before.”

“Sure, sure – _do you think I’m stupid_?” Tsuzuki leaned back, barely avoiding the spittle flying in his direction as the irate boy took two steps towards him. “Two new faces in the upperclassmen’s dorms, on the first night of school? What other business can you have?!”

“I told you,” gasped the boy on the floor, “I got lost –”

“And _I_ told _you_ , they wouldn’t have let anybody that stupid in –” The leader of those goons cut himself off, shaking his head in what seemed to be exasperation, and waved a hand in Tsuzuki’s direction. “Drop him.”

The nearer enforcer let go of the boy on the floor, and in the blink of an eye he was charging forth at a speed one wouldn’t have expected from someone his size – ah, yes, of course; he was moving in the little slip-slide forward motions that were characteristic of an amateur at shunpo.

Tsuzuki hesitated, and then stepped aside with a quick half-turn at the very last moment, when there was no way someone that new to shunpo could stop himself in time. The boy made a strangled yelp as he crashed heavily into the decorative panels lining the corridor, and Tsuzuki had to raise a very impressed eyebrow at the fact that the fragile paper-and-wood construction didn’t rip on impact. They must’ve been reinforced with some kind of kidō.

With a roar, the other enforcer threw himself in Tsuzuki’s direction, and sheer muscle memory made him go low, tilting his own body to put his shoulder firmly in the middle of the other boy’s pectoral muscle, accidentally-on-purpose slamming the breath out of his lungs. The boy wheezed, but his momentum carried him forwards, and Tsuzuki casually flipped him over his shoulder.

Then, because he swore he could _feel_ his stomach trying to digest itself, he didn’t bother waiting for the last one to make the first move – a single uppercut to the chin knocked him out rather decisively, possibly before he’d even figured out what was going on. Tsuzuki stared down at the trio, and then sighed, shaking his head. Schoolyard bullies were the same everywhere, apparently. Always so deluded as to their own superiority.

“You okay?”

The boy squeaked.

Well, he was probably all right then. Tsuzuki took a few steps away, and then realised, there was something the boy _could_ help him with. “Hey, you. What time is it?”

The boy actually looked around first, as though there was anyone else Tsuzuki could have been talking to, before stuttering out, “A-about ten.”

Tsuzuki scratched his head. Did the commissary close at ten or eleven again? Ah well, it was worth a try, anyway. “Thanks.” He started off, and then paused again. “You planning to stick around until they wake up?”

The kid emitted a high-pitched noise not unlike something a dog whistle might make, scrambling to his feet as Tsuzuki started in the direction of the commissary, but it wasn’t until they’d cleared the dormitory buildings completely that Tsuzuki realised he had a stray _following_ him.

Ah, whatever, food was more important.

The lamps in the commissary were still lit when he slid the doors open, thank goodness, and Tsuzuki ducked through the curtains separating the paid section from the regular section. There was an actual menu hung on the walls, but he made a beeline to the counter instead. “Whatever you’ve got left, I’ll take it all.”

The chef opened his mouth, probably to ask if he was sure, but the opportune gurgle of Tsuzuki’s stomach made him hide a smile instead. “Would Sir like tea as well?”

“Yeah,” and then he thought, well, “two teas, thanks.”

He took the serving tray piled high with food back out into the regular section, where sure enough, the boy from earlier was still standing, shifting nervously from foot to foot. His eyes went huge at the sight of the food – to be fair, Tsuzuki could barely see where he was going with that mountain in front of his face – but he trailed Tsuzuki like a lost puppy until they got to one of the benches.

Tsuzuki shoved one of the mugs at him. “Sit down and drink.”

He’d managed to demolish half the tray before the boy spoke up, finally. “Thank you very much for your help earlier! I’m Kobayashi Akira, please let me know how I may be of service!”

“I’m Tsuzuki,” he answered shortly, shoving another ball of rice into his mouth.

“Thank you very much, Tsuzuki-sama!”

He nearly choked on his next mouthful of food. “Don’t call me that,” he spluttered, waving his chopsticks about. Incognito didn’t work if someone went around calling him -sama all the time; and, anyway, what was with all these people’s insistence on attaching weird honorifics to his name? If it wasn’t Tsuzuki-sama or Tsuzuki-dono, it was Tsuki- _chan_. Seriously.

Akira frowned at him. “Ah, Tsuzuki… senpai?”

“I’m a first year.”

“Oh.” Akira’s mouth dropped open, and Tsuzuki managed to finish another few bites before he went, “Ohhhh. Thank you very much, then, Tsuzuki-san!”

Tsuzuki opened his mouth, and then closed it again with a sigh. It was just far too much trouble. “Yeah, okay.”

How much worse could it get?

~*~*~*~*~

“Over here!”

It took him a moment to figure out where Hideaki’s voice was coming from, aided by the disembodied arm frantically waving in the air. Despite the fact that he’d been up by sunrise, the commissary was already packed when he got to it, the excited chatter of hundreds of students filling up the enclosed space.

The teachers must have been up even earlier, since he found a folded piece of paper on the floor when he woke up. Someone must have gone around slipping schedules under everyone’s doors this morning.

Shihōin Tsuzuki, First Year, First Class

 

> Hohō: exempt
> 
> Zanjutsu: Sixth Year, advanced class*
> 
> Hakuda: Sixth Year, advanced class
> 
> Kidō: Fourth Year, advanced class
> 
> Reiatsu control: First Year, First Class
> 
> Meditation: First Year, First Class
> 
> History: Communal
> 
> Please submit your choice(s) of electives within two weeks of starting classes.
> 
>           *live steel and zanpakutō permitted

He shoved himself into the non-existent gap between two gigantic muscleheads, somehow managing not to spill a single drop of his soup as he let his tray clatter down in the tiny space Hideaki managed to save for him.

“Was it like that yesterday?”

“Not this bad, guess nobody has a free period first thing in the morning?” Hideaki chased a pickle with his chopsticks, and then did a visible double-take at the tray Tsuzuki’d just set down. “Wait, is that the free stuff?”

Tsuzuki too looked down at his tray, taking in the rice frugally sprinkled with furikake seasoning, the small bowl of plain miso soup, and the saucer with two slivers of daikon. “I guess?” At least they’d let him get a second bowl of rice, so he wouldn’t be starving.

He looked over at the half-eaten teriyaki salmon on the other side of the table and the remnants of natto Hideaki was currently trying to hide under his own serving of rice, as though worried that Tsuzuki would feel offended.

“But why?” Hideaki hissed, quietly. He glanced both ways to make sure no one was paying any attention to them, before continuing, “Why not go for the paid food?”

To be completely honest, he’d simply joined the first queue he saw on autopilot, and hadn’t remembered there _was_ a different section open for breakfast until Hideaki brought it up. Besides –

“Eh, it’s not that bad.” The cooks might have skimped on the seaweed, but at least they’d been generous enough with the salt that the rice wasn’t too bland.

Hideaki was still looking a little shell-shocked. “Surely Tsuzuki-san’s used to better food?”

Well, dinner the night before had certainly been much better, but it wasn’t like he had much of a choice. Hideaki still seemed on the verge of breaking into a hail of hisses, so Tsuzuki just shrugged uncomfortably and admitted, “I don’t have money.”

Well, it wasn’t true, strictly speaking. There was still a decent amount left in that pouch Yoruichi gave him, but he knew better than to squander the only emergency cash he had on hand. He hoped those odd jobs Ōnabora mentioned the day before started soon; there was a free period in his schedule that he could take full advantage of.

Hideaki rocked backwards, his body language for a brief moment broadcasting pure shock before he managed to school himself back into impassivity. “ _What_? Isn’t there a… standard allowance, or something? I thought every clan had one!”

There was, but – “I’m ineligible.”

The archaic clan laws were a mess: every single precedent they could dig out of the archives indicated that a shudō mentor was legally the student’s primary guardian, and thus had to be the student’s sole provider. This ordinarily wouldn’t have posed an issue, since there was another bylaw permitting all mentors to draw double the usual clan allowance.

There was just one miniscule matter in their case: Kisuke wasn’t a Shihōin by blood, adoption, or marriage. This meant that not only was he ineligible for the general clan allowance, but also the Shihōin-foster allowance, since being named primary guardian apparently equated to _starting his own family_ and thus _coming of age_.

The Gotei pay was a joke, Onmitsukidō supplement nearly non-existent – everyone save for them was already on at least one other allowance, apparently – and mission bonus pay far too infrequent to count as a regular source of income. They were lucky that all meals were communal, and that the cooks liked Tsuzuki enough to sneak him something from the servants’ mess if he couldn’t make it to a meal. Equipment, too, could easily be replaced in the Storeroom; the apples that sometimes made their way into his pack after a trip there were always a welcome bonus, especially if Kotone or one of her friends was on duty.

Kisuke had to get really creative with his reimbursement forms – he pulled some shadowing/surveillance missions just to be able to write off clothing purchases as mission-related expenses – and sometimes Yoruichi slipped him some coins, but, really, they were already doing so much. He couldn’t possibly ask them for anything else.

Hideaki was pushing his fish around awkwardly, like he couldn’t figure out whether eating it in front of someone who’d just admitted he couldn’t afford the same was a breach of good manners. Tsuzuki sighed and stared pointedly down at his own breakfast, politely pretending not to notice Hideaki shovelling all the offending items on his tray into his mouth.

“Any idea what electives you’re taking yet?”

Hideaki almost choked in his haste to answer. “Not really, was just going to browse around the booths during the Electives Festival, see what’s on offer this year. I’m hoping one of the Shibas do their kidō spellcraft module again, you know?”

Tsuzuki made a noise of interest, pulling out his own schedule again. No wonder the core course load was so light, if they were expected to fill up the rest of the schedule themselves. “So the electives aren’t conducted by the Academy instructors?”

“No way.” Hideaki shot him a look, like he was an alien. “Pretty much any shinigami can send in a proposal, and if it gets approved, they can open a class that year.”

They exchanged schedules, and Hideaki pulled a face when he saw Tsuzuki’s. “No hohō, _of course_.”

“Looks like we’ve got the same kidō class,” Tsuzuki offered, in lieu of anything else to say. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that there’d be a friendly face around when he inevitably blew something up?

“Live steel, urgh.” Hideaki shuddered, and Tsuzuki grinned into his breakfast, well aware of Hideaki’s opinion on sharp pointy things. “I don’t think my father even remembers where he left his zanpakutō.”

Tsuzuki didn’t think he’d ever _seen_ Yoruichi’s zanpakutō before, not even during the War when she spent half the time camped out on the floor next to him, so it wasn’t like he could judge. Anyone who dared to imply she was somehow lacking because she didn’t use a sword was liable to lose a limb or three. He held up a placating hand just in case. “Hey, I’m _Onmi_ , remember? Half the time we aren’t allowed to carry weapons at all.”

Hideaki brightened a little, handing Tsuzuki’s schedule back. “True that. Going for a two-year graduation, then?”

Tsuzuki gave another shrug, and was saved from having to answer by the clock tolling the hour. “Better get going if we want good seats,” he mumbled around a last mouthful of rice.

Hideaki scooped up his own tray in answer.

~*~*~*~*~

Morning class was short and to the point, just an overview of the various compulsory classes, and a reminder that Electives Festival would be held in the courtyard for the rest of the day.

The four main shinigami disciplines – hohō, zanjutsu, hakuda and kidō – were split into twelve grades, and students placed into the grade that corresponded to their skill level regardless of which year they were actually in. There were also two theory classes, held in their own homerooms, and a communal history class open to all students who hadn’t passed their history exam yet.

He’d seen the booths getting set up on his way to breakfast and later to class this morning, of course, but nothing could have prepared him for the explosion of colour now covering every millimetre of the courtyard. How many of those booths _were_ there, dozens? Maybe a hundred odd? No wonder the festival lasted one whole day.

“Come on, let’s go down the aisles one by one.”

Hideaki shook himself out of his own stupor. “Yeah,” he agreed slowly, and they dove into the ever-expanding crowd.

Despite his usual indifference to the idea of school, Tsuzuki couldn’t help but get interested. His shinigami friends hadn’t talked much about their time at the Academy, but sometimes a couple of them would get together to reminisce. Apparently Hinamori, Renji, Kira and Hisagi had all been at the Academy together.

_“Not Rukia?” he’d asked, because he remembered Rukia mentioning that she’d gone up from Rukongai together with Renji._

_“Nah,” Renji hiccupped. “Taichō grabbed her first week of school, stuck her in the Thirteenth.” He shook his empty sake bottle forlornly, as though he could make some more alcohol appear by the sheer force of his willpower alone. “Totally missed out on meeting anyone our age, you know? Couldn’t talk to us Rukongai trash anymore, ‘cept her lieutenant, until you.”_

Still, none of them had mentioned _this_.

“Estate management,” he repeated, a little disbelievingly.

“Yeah!” Hideaki leaned into him a little to be heard over the crowd. “For those who’ve got an estate at home to run?”

Tsuzuki could understand that, but – “As a _student_?”

“No! Couple of these are open to regular shinigami too!”

They powered past an endless array of booths featuring things like agriculture and irrigation studies. It was kind of like a very weird version of the after-school activities he was far more used to seeing.

The next few aisles seemed to be more relevant to their actual studies. Tsuzuki ducked away from a student waving flyers for Seireitei Communications in his face, and then promptly nearly lost Hideaki to the kidō-related cluster of booths.

Isshin stuttered in the middle of a sentence when Tsuzuki shoved his way over to the booth, following behind Hideaki, and he scowled automatically back until Isshin very determinedly picked up where he’d left off. The only others at the kidō spellcraft booth were two upperclassmen, bustling around with pamphlets and generally too busy to listen in. Good.

“Didn’t know Tsuzuki-san was interested in kidō,” Hideaki said, boggling.

Tsuzuki shrugged, picking up a pamphlet. He wasn’t, not really, but it was hard to live with a kidō enthusiast and _not_ pick up anything.

_“Owww.”_

_From his position safely outside the range of Tsuzuki’s latest implosion, Kisuke tapped his chin with a fan. “You’re still using too much reiatsu,” he said by way of explanation._

_“I’m already pulling out as little as I possibly can!” Tsuzuki griped, throwing up his hands, wincing as the movement pulled at the tender flesh of his palm. At least an explosion from that little bit of reiatsu couldn’t really do more than redden the flesh._

_Kisuke hummed again, and then said, “Try this.” He turned to the side, holding out his arm, and snapped his fingers with exaggerated slowness._

_A tight beam of red light shot out from his outstretched index finger, immediately recognisable as one of Kisuke’s favourite battlefield kidō spells._

_“Kaizō Kidō: Jūgeki Byakurai.”_

_Tsuzuki could feel his mouth dropping open, but he had far more important things to worry about. “ That was a Byakurai?” he demanded. The same kidō he’d been trying to perform for the past three hours? Though it didn’t look much like one; when Kisuke’d demonstrated it earlier, a normal Byakurai looked like a pale lightning bolt, and could barely scratch the bark of a tree._

_Tsuzuki shielded his eyes with one hand, trying to count the number of trees now with holes drilled straight through them._

_“Modified Byakurai,” Kisuke corrected. “With additional range and piercing power, adjustable depending on amount of reiatsu input. Probably more useful to you than the standard version.”_

_Tsuzuki turned to him, stars in his eyes. “Teach me.”_

He wasn’t any good with most of the stuff in the Book of Hundred Hadō, especially the lower-ranked kidō, but anything that used more reiatsu than usual came to him just as naturally as anything shinigami-related ever did.

Still… maybe spellcraft wasn’t really his thing.

“Try the booths over on the other side,” Isshin suddenly said. “Those might be more your thing.”

And then, a tentative brush of a foreign-yet-familiar reiatsu up against his own. _‘I’ll see you later?’_

Tsuzuki nodded in response to both comments, and gladly left Hideaki alone to coo over the samples of past students’ work.

His father was right, he mused as he ducked under a banner proclaiming “Shikai personal development class! For all your shikai-obtaining needs!” This did sound like something he’d be more interested in than _kidō_.

He paused, and took another look at the posters decorating the booth, all of them touting some kind of get-shikai-quick scheme.

Or… maybe not.

He looked over to the next few stalls, and his eyebrows shot up in surprise when he spotted Unohana-taichō. So Isshin wasn’t the only shinigami hanging around today.

“Hello.” She smiled at him when he accidentally caught her eye, and he automatically walked over as though under a compulsion. “We are offering Flower Arrangement, Field Medicine, and Basic Parenting classes, would you be interested in any of these?”

“Uh,” he said, very intelligently.

“No?” she asked, and a shiver ran down his spine, though her voice was without censure. “That’s all right, thank you for your time.”

“Actually,” he found himself saying, “can I take a look at the Field Medicine syllabus?”

Unohana blinked a little too quickly, which was the only sign that she was surprised by his words. “Certainly.” The pleasant smile was back, but this time it didn’t feel like someone’d just wandered over his grave. “Do let me know if you have any questions.”

He skimmed through the course schedule, and they all seemed to be similar to the stuff he’d seen in first aid courses back when he was human: diagnoses for common injuries, how to dress a wound, what to do if he spotted an unconscious body on the ground…

“Yeah, so, are the classes going to be focusing on mundane healing or reiatsu-based healing techniques?”

If Unohana hadn’t been paying him much attention earlier, she certainly was now.

“The course will touch on some basic kaidō spells,” she pointed at a few lines on the syllabus, “but the focus will be on mundane methods, as not all interested students may have the aptitude or the desire to learn proper medical kidō.”

Tsuzuki looked up at her at that. “How is aptitude for kaidō determined?” he wondered, partly rhetorically, partly expecting an actual answer. “Is it an innate factor, or can it be taught?”

Unohana was looking at him like she’d never seen him before. Which… she might not have, actually, but Tsuzuki had the feeling she knew exactly who he was, and that she was rapidly re-evaluating her initial opinions of him.

“Some people will find it easier to grasp initially,” she answered slowly, “but it can be learnt.”

“Right.” Tsuzuki very resolutely stuffed the pamphlet in his sash pouch so that he wouldn’t forget the course name. “I’m signing up.”

The number of times he’d wished during the War that he had more than the minimal amount of basic first aid training, the number of times he was conscripted to scrub bloody bandages clean because supplies were running so low they were going to have to make do with used ones, the number of times he’d sat on the ground holding some stranger’s hand as they bled out, wishing there was something he could do for them…

Not again, not if he had any say.

He hesitated, and then turned to Unohana again. “Basic Parenting? Do many students get pregnant or something?” He thought he’d heard that both parents needed to be reiatsu powerhouses to conceive, but he could have been wrong?

Her lips quirked up in the ghost of a full smirk. “Not pregnancy, no. This class is for anyone who finds themselves in the sudden position of having to care for a child, which happens far more often in the Rukongai and noble clans than you’d think. For example, a few years back, there were two second-year students who found themselves the guardian of an infant overnight.” She paused, and then lowered her voice to a conspiratory whisper, “My library was never quite the same after that.”

Tsuzuki had the feeling he knew exactly who she was talking about, and that, if his hunch was right, they’d totally get a kick out of hearing that their shenanigans kick-started a new class at the Academy.

“Thank you very much.” He bowed, properly, and knew she understood he was thanking her for both the course material and the story.

The other booths in the section far paled in comparison. He wasn’t really interested in iaido, or jujitsu, or any of those other schools of martial arts – he’d already settled on a style for both zanjutsu and hakuda, and was happy with them. The one on advanced hohō applications sounded more interesting, but a quick glance at the syllabus made it obvious that he wasn’t going to be learning anything new in that class.

The next stall was –

“Tsuzuki-san?”

Oh, the guy from last night… uh, what was his name again… “Akira.” He finally remembered, just before the pause got too long to be completely awkward.

Akira didn’t seem to notice the longer-than-usual hesitation, or maybe he didn’t care. “Is Tsuzuki-san also interested in Stealth Techniques?”

He glanced up at the banner hanging above the booth, just to confirm the class title. Stealth Techniques? That sounded like something the Second Division would offer, much like the Fourth seemed to be in charge of Field Medicine – wait, if the Second was here…

_Please don’t be Kisuke or Yoruichi. PLEASE don’t be Kisuke or Yoruichi._

Maybe he should have phrased the plea as “please don’t be someone I know”.

Yūshirō beamed back at him, waving a stack of pamphlets in one hand with the kind of energy only ever found in cheerleaders and small dogs. “Hello, Akira-san, Tsuzuki-san! Would you like to hear more about our Stealth Techniques class? If you’re interested in joining the Onmitsukidō, it’s definitely the class for you!” Without waiting for a reply, he reached over the table and slapped a flyer into Tsuzuki’s hand.

Tsuzuki glanced sharply at him at the crinkle of a folded piece of paper in his palm, strategically covered by the pamphlet. Yes, he was technically still on the Onmitsukidō emergency roster, but they couldn’t really be calling him in already, right? He hadn’t even gone for his first class yet!

Yūshirō was still smiling guilelessly, but he was also skilfully distracting Akira with explanations of the final exam – totally optional, don’t worry! – and how a high score would merit an exemption from the Onmitsukidō entrance exam.

With a flick of his fingers, the hidden message was on top of the pamphlet and he scanned it quickly. There was just one sentence, scribbled in what he immediately recognised as Kisuke’s untidy scrawl.

 

> _Take this class~_

Tsuzuki heaved a sigh, and manfully resisted the urge to scowl at Yūshirō, who was just wrapping up his promotion spiel.

“Guess I’m signing up for this one too.”

~*~*~*~*~

Akira dogged him through the rest of the booths, and then back to the Kidō Spellcraft booth, where Hideaki was – unsurprisingly – still camped.

“Not going to look at anything else?”

Hideaki looked a little conflicted. “There’s just four sections left, right? So they’d be for the other three shinigami disciplines, and whatever the Gotei’s doing?” He gave a little shrug. “I’ll sign up for the Kidōshū one, and that’s probably it?”

“Take the Administration and Bureaucracy class,” Isshin piped up unexpectedly. “That’s the compulsory module for officer promotion, if you take it now you don’t have to retake it when you get a seated position.”

“Thanks, Shiba-fukutaichō!” Hideaki said cheerfully, scribbling the course title down, and only then seemed to notice Tsuzuki had acquired a shadow since the last time they’d seen each other. “Oh, hello? I’m Hoshino Hideaki, I don’t believe we’ve met?”

“Hi, I’m Kobayashi Akira, please let me know how I may be of service!”

Hideaki was looking between him and Akira with a tiny confused frown on his face, clearly trying to figure out how they’d even met.

“Ran into him last night,” Tsuzuki grunted, because he’d learnt it the hard way that Hideaki would pester him non-stop if Tsuzuki didn’t give a straight answer the first time.

Akira grimaced at the memory. “Oh, yeah, I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly for that, Tsuzuki-san.”

“No gratitude’s necessary.”

At an inquisitive look from Hideaki, Akira starting explaining, “So I was trying to find my way back to my room from the commissary, and I started on the other side of the dorms, but then I ran into these upperclassmen who kept demanding I confess to being some kind of spy – still don’t understand what they were talking about – until Tsuzuki-san came along and… uh, beat them all up?”

He could swear that goofy grin on his father’s face had just turned more real.

“I was hungry, and they were in my way,” he finally said grudgingly in response to Hideaki’s wide-eyed looks, and shook his head despairingly when all three of them burst into laughter.

At least Yūshirō wasn’t around to hear that.

“Still, upperclassmen?” Hideaki said, when he finally calmed down enough to speak again. “Did you happen to catch their names?”

Akira shook his head. “He just kept going, _do you know who I am_? And I really wanted to say, _no I don’t_ , but I kind of value my life, you know?”

_‘Does he know who you are?’_

Tsuzuki scowled, and then blasted back, _‘ NO.’_

A petty part of him was pleased by Isshin’s visible wince. The larger part was more interested in Hideaki’s response, “Sounds like one of the kids from the higher-ranked noble families.” He opened his mouth, about to say something else, and then took another look at Tsuzuki. “Probably not going to be an issue, though.” There was a wry twist to his mouth, and Isshin was laughing silently again.

Tsuzuki rolled his eyes.

_‘It’s true, though. No matter how high his family’s ranked, he can’t possibly beat a True First.’_

_‘Yeah, yeah, shut up already, Goat-Face.’_

Isshin touched his clean-shaven chin and pouted slightly.

_‘It wasn’t just the beard that made you look like a goat.’_

_‘Ahhhh, my darling spawn! You have mastered the art of the rejoinder! Truly, my heart is overflowing with joy!’_ He could almost _see_ the dual waterfalls running down his father’s face, like Isshin was a character in an animé or something.

How did one send the mental version of a drop-kick again?

~*~*~*~*~

Along with lunch came the happy discovery that they could, in fact, eat anywhere on the school grounds if they brought their own utensils or promised to return them to the commissary afterwards. No wonder Kisuke had made him pack three bowls and some chopsticks.

The free lunch was rather similar to the free breakfast, but with an additional side-dish that seemed to be some kind of mystery meat. Chicken, he identified after a tentative bite, just smothered in some kind of really dark curry sauce. A bit dry, but nothing inedible.

Hideaki made a face after his first bite of chicken, but soldiered through the rest of his mouthful. “Better than rations, at least.”

“Hear, hear,” Tsuzuki muttered feelingly.

They were halfway through their food when Akira made a startled noise and whipped his leg back, right before a throwing knife embedded itself where it had been a moment earlier. The motion might have saved his limb, but it also caused his bowl to tip over, splattering the rest of his lunch over the grass.

Tsuzuki scowled fiercely at the wasted food, and then turned the full force of his glare on whoever it was who dared to interrupt a quiet meal. “May I help you?” he demanded brusquely, just on the right side of polite.

There were five of them standing over them in a loose semi-circle, and it didn’t take Akira’s sharp intake of breath for Tsuzuki to realise it was the same group as the night before.

Hideaki set his own lunch carefully to the side, folded his hands in his lap and looked attentively at Tsuzuki. On Hideaki’s other side, Akira fidgeted a little, but their unruffled demeanour must have been catching, for he was tense but not especially afraid.

“Yes,” snarled the boy from last night, who was apparently the de facto leader of this little gang. “You can help me by _grovelling on your knees_!” Snarling out the last few words, he dove forwards, his fist drawing back in a punch so blatantly telegraphed Tsuzuki was wincing a little from second-hand embarrassment.

Yoruichi would _die_ laughing if he’d ever let something like that hit him.

He sighed and kicked out rapidly, sweeping his would-be assailant’s legs out from under him. The boy landed head-first in an ungainly heap, his hand slamming into the grass. Tsuzuki wasn’t expecting the minor seismic shock that rippled out from the point of contact, tiny cracks appearing in the ground and making Hideaki dive to protect his bowl. Huh, there was definitely reiatsu involved.

So, he wasn’t as incompetent as he first appeared to be, even though he now seemed to be unconscious. Definitely supporting the rich-noble-kid theory.

He raised an eyebrow at the other four goons, who seemed to be frozen in shock at how easily their leader was taken down. Unfortunately, it didn’t deter them from thinking they had the superiority in numbers, as all of them shrieked in outrage and charged at the same time.

Tsuzuki sighed again, and handed his bowl over to Hideaki for good measure.

A quick mental estimate told him the distance was long enough that Hideaki wouldn’t be caught in the backlash, and he channelled just enough reiatsu into his heel and palms to pivot himself rapidly to the side, away from the centre of the resultant dogpile. Casually snagging his lunch back from Hideaki again, Tsuzuki took another bite, watching a little incredulously as the four of them collided in a heap and somehow managed to start brawling amongst themselves like they didn’t notice he wasn’t at the bottom of that pile.

Honestly.

There were some days he was definitely ashamed to be called a shinigami.

At a gesture, the three of them sneaked off before any of their assailants realised what was going on, only stopping when they were safely out of sight.

“Tsuzuki-san certainly gets around,” mused Hideaki, to which Akira winced.

“I’m really sorry for dragging the two of you into something like this –” he started, only to be waved off.

“It’s not like they can actually do anything to us,” Hideaki replied dismissively. “I don’t even know who that is, so he’s probably not anyone important.”

In other words, whichever family that student was from, he wasn’t even at the social hierarchical level of a True First’s retainer.

“He’s kind of embarrassing,” Tsuzuki agreed. “I hope most nobles aren’t like that.”

Hideaki side-eyed him with a _are you seriously trying to pull that off_ look, which, fair; Akira did see him buy something the previous night, but noble students weren’t the only ones with money. There were plenty of civilian merchants in Seireitei and the first few districts of Rukongai proper, and he didn’t sound anything like a noble once he’d dropped the polite speech.

Akira was probably mid-level Rukongai, judging from his accent and the way he didn’t so much as blink at Hideaki’s last name, but even the outermost Rukongai districts would have heard of the Shihōin, if only from tales of invisible knives in the dark.

His identity was going to be exposed sooner or later – probably sooner, once the zanjutsu or hakuda classes started – but until then, he could just be _him_ for a little while longer.

~*~*~*~*~

The peace didn’t last long.

There was a strange sort of energy in the commissary during dinner, a buzzing sort of anticipation, the static so strong he could almost taste it in the air. By the way Akira kept shivering and rubbing at his arms, he wasn’t the only one feeling it.

“There he is!”

Before he could turn around and try to figure out who the ‘he’ was referring, Tsuzuki found his way blocked by a hulking giant of a man, who’d just melted out of the crowd.

Tsuzuki blinked, once.

“Can I help you?”

The giant ignored him, turning around to speak to someone on the other side, and oh, now that they were next to each other Tsuzuki could see the family resemblance between him and the boy who’d attacked him twice now. “This one?”

“Yes, otō-sama!”

He considered his options, but the commissary was just too crowded for him to easily side-step the lunge at the lapels of his kosode, and if he was totally honest with himself, he hadn’t gotten any decent exercise in _days_.

The giant easily lifted him completely off the floor, until they were at eye-level. “Do you know who I am?” he thundered.

“No,” Tsuzuki said, completely honestly.

The giant sneered at him. “Of course not,” he scoffed. “They’d let any Rukongai trash through the doors these days –” behind him, Hideaki’s face made a very odd twitch at that, like he was trying really hard not to laugh “– all of you swarming in like rats, polluting our pure court –”

“Can we take this outside?” Tsuzuki wondered, somewhat rhetorically, and endured gamely through what was probably meant to be a series of hard shakes that in reality barely rattled his teeth.

Hideaki was giving him a wide-eyed look, mouthing words that, even with his limited lip-reading skills, he could figure out were something along the lines _why are you just letting him do this_.

“Yeah, but, if I kick him, and he goes through the wall, do I pay for the damages or him? It’s kind of important.”

“Oh,” said Hideaki out loud.

“Besides,” he admitted, turning his head to the side so that he wasn’t getting a face-full of spittle. “I’m not sure what’s the protocol here. Are there any rules against shinigami hurting civilians?”

“How dare you!” shrieked someone from behind, probably the giant’s son. “My Dad’s an Eleventh Seat!”

“Of what?” he sniped back automatically, honestly sort of morbidly curious. “What idiot puts someone’s knee right in front of his crotch?”

He was half-expecting the retaliation that followed his perfectly legitimate question – and so getting thrown across four tables didn’t even knock the wind out of him. This guy must be a desk-bound shinigami or something; even Suì-Fēng could have thrown him across half the commissary at the very least, and she was like half his size.

Well, he was marginally nearer the exit now, so he picked his way through the crowd to the courtyard, the dull stabs of killing intent coming from behind him letting him know his opponent was in hot pursuit.

For a given meaning of ‘hot pursuit’, anyway.

The courtyard was already cleared of booths, it being halfway through dinnertime, which made property damage much less likely.

“Stand and face me like a man, you coward!”

“This is kind of embarrassing to watch,” Hideaki breathed, quiet enough that the giant probably didn’t hear him.

“It’s even more embarrassing to be a part of,” Tsuzuki muttered back. He was all for persistence – would be a complete hypocrite if he didn’t consider stubbornness a virtue – but this was just utterly ridiculous.

Enough was enough.

He drew back his fist, and as the giant lumbered towards him, Tsuzuki slammed a punch directly into his solar plexus.

The giant staggered back, but he was still upright, and looking more and more like an angry bear by the moment. “You little –” he began, but a new voice cut in through the commotion.

“What is going on here?”

The spectators parted to reveal Ōnabora striding across the courtyard, the frown on his face visible even in the dim evening light. His steps hitched just the slightest bit when he spotted Tsuzuki and the giant.

“Ōnabora!” The giant pulled himself up to his full height. “I demand you get rid of this insolent Rukongai trash immediately!”

“Hey! Your son attacked us first!”

If looks could kill, Akira would have died a thousand times over. “You hear this?” the giant screeched. “You hear the slander these rats are sprouting nowadays? In my time, if this sort of thing happened, we’d have sewn their lying mouths shut and tossed them out with the garbage!”

“I understand completely, Minamoto-dono,” Ōnabora soothed. “I will be dealing with this matter personally.”

The giant scoffed in response, folding his arms and clearly waiting for Ōnabora to get on with the punishment.

Ōnabora looked heavenward for a brief moment, as though praying for patience.

“At any point in this misunderstanding, has it occurred to either of you to give out your names?” He paused, turning deliberately to look both of them in the eyes. “Hoshino Hideaki-san, _Shihōin_ Tsuzuki-san?”

“Uh.”

There went any hopes of staying incognito.

It was kind of worth it, though, to watch Minamoto turn the colour of freshly-fallen snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “please let me know how I may be of service!” – phrases with no equivalent in English, like “dozo yorushiku”, are always a pain to translate. Going with a culturally-meaningful self-made translation here, instead of the standard “pleased to make your acquaintance” I always see.
> 
>  _Onmi_ = TBE-only slang for an Onmitsukidō member, because I refuse to believe anyone, much less the military, would use a five-syllable word in casual speech. It’s a pun on an alternate reading of _onmyoji_ , a term for a practitioner of esoteric arts in ancient (Transient World) Japan, who specifically deals with vengeful spirits (i.e. Hollows in this context).
> 
> Kaizō Kidō: Jūgeki Byakurai = Modified Kidō: Heavy-Strike Pale Lightning. The one he used at the start of the FKT battle against Aizen.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Academy was simultaneously like everything everyone had ever told him about, and nothing like what he'd ever thought it would be.

“Did you know you’ve got a stalker?”

In lieu of any other response, Tsuzuki just sighed. He sped up his steps, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I think that’s a yes.” Akira was practically jogging to keep up, but he somehow managed to lean forwards, trying to peer intently at Tsuzuki’s face. Tsuzuki had no idea what kind of expression he might be wearing, but it evidently satisfied Akira enough that he drew back with a nod.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just barely see Hideaki nod back, equally sagely.

Of course he knew: the weave of their reiatsu was about as subtle as cannonfire, a megaphone bellowing for his attention. He’d have to be reiatsu- _blind_ not to notice.

“He got a name?”

“Minamoto,” Hideaki and Akira chorused in unison, and then exchanged a blank look.

“Minamoto… san?” offered Akira.

Tsuzuki rolled his eyes. Why would he _willingly_ add extra syllables to anyone’s name – in fact, he’d much prefer it if people’s names were shorter. Like, two syllables or something. Four was _such_ a mouthful, even for someone he’d genuinely liked, like Hanatarō. No way was he going to make the effort for someone who couldn’t even handle his own in a schoolyard fight.

Even Hideaki waved a hand dismissively. “Tsuzuki-san doesn’t need to add an honorific for someone of lower rank than him.” Not that Tsuzuki had ever cared about _that_ , but apparently Soul Society cared. A lot.

Meanwhile, though –

“Come on, we’ve got class to get to.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hohō. Zanjutsu. Hakuda. Kidō. They were the four core disciplines at the Academy, and thus occupied two blocks a week for the average student – or one block a week, for those in the advanced class. Three more foundation classes – Reiatsu Control, Zanpakutō Meditation, and History – were held once a week each.

As a student progressed through the Academy, they were expected to begin replacing their core classes with more specialised courses. A sixth-year student on track for a seated officer position would, for instance, take several sixth-year advanced classes and fill up their free blocks with electives like Spellcrafting, Shikai Enlightenment, or Stealth Techniques.

Most electives ran multiple duplicate sessions a week, so that students or working shinigami were less limited by timetable constraints when it came to picking their favourite electives. Administration & Bureaucracy, in particular, was conducted four times a week by someone from Division One, and was notorious for having far more shinigami than actual students.

Rumour was, one time the Head Captain had been so tired of the illegible reports he was getting that he sent all twelve captains to this class for a semester. Apparently the Gotei Thirteen had a long and illustrious precedent for sending their captain-level shinigami back to school.

No _wonder_ their default solution to everything was “let’s infiltrate Karakura High!”.

But for Tsuzuki, a legitimate Academy student, having four more free blocks a week than his peers meant that he could take on some part-time jobs. It’d be like high school all over again.

He hadn’t had a chance to view the job board in the commissary yet, between the crush of the mealtime crowds and the unfortunate by-product of having a _highly recognisable_ hair colour, but mid-morning on a school day was the perfect time for some reconnaissance.

There was a low murmur of voices coming from the cordoned-off luxury section – probably some of the teachers, or upperclassmen having a late breakfast – but he paid it no heed.

The job board was far bigger up close, covered in flyers like a multitude of wanted posters. The nearest section was titled ‘once-off postings’.

 

_Job description: Party entertainer (2 required)_

_Term and duration: 12 th May, full day_

_Requirements: Good with children aged sixty to eighty_

_Pay: 300 Kan per person_

_Signed, Hattori Miyako_

 

He suppressed a shudder, turning his attention to the section titled ‘repeat postings’ next.

 

_Job description: Dish washer at the Shinigami Academy (2 needed per shift)_

_Term and duration: Three shifts available each day – after breakfast, lunch, dinner_

_Requirements: None_

_Pay: 50 Kan per shift, -5 Kan per broken plate_

_Signed,_ _Ōnabora Gengorō, Academy Director_

 

Was 50 kan supposed to be a decent wage? By modern Japan standards, it’d be violating minimum wage laws, but as the lack of clocks continuously reminded him, this wasn’t modern Japan.

He looked at the next one.

 

_Job description: Gotei food delivery runner (2-4 needed per shift)_

_Term and duration: 2-hour lunchtime shift or 3-hour dinnertime shift available each day_

_Requirements: Grade 4 shunpo minimum, working knowledge of Seireitei layout preferred_

_Pay: 10 Kan per delivery, one free meal after each shift_

_Signed, Seireitei Food Street vendors_

 

The free meal sounded good, but the pay seemed a little low, especially if washing dishes could net him fifty kan a shift. Maybe if he was desperate…

 

_Job description: Gotei message runner attaché (1 needed per day)_

_Term and duration: Negotiable, but preferably at least three half-day shifts a week_

_Requirements: Grade 8 shunpo minimum and working knowledge of Seireitei layout_

_Pay: 200 Kan per shift_

_Signed, Yadomaru Lisa_

 

Now _that_ looked promising. Tsuzuki pulled out his schedule again, frowning down at the electives. If he took the evening Admin class, the morning Stealth class, and the Saturday afternoon Field Medicine class… yes, that could work. He’d have two full days off a week, plus another half-day, so that was five shifts a week.

Dinner the other night cost, what, a hundred Kan? But that could be due to a student and/or leftovers discount; food in Seireitei proper was probably more expensive. He could of course rush back to the Academy for lunch and then run back out for his afternoon shift, but…

He looked at the previous posting again. Or alternatively, he could pick up a lunchtime food delivery shift from the food street for those two days and have lunch assured. Ten deliveries in two hours should be easy enough, unless he was running from one end of Seireitei to the other or something.

Even then, if the roofs were clear, he’d probably be able to make it. Shinigami were surprisingly – or maybe not so surprisingly – dull, and rarely travelled by rooftop for some strange reason.

Mind made up, he pulled down both posters and went over to the Academy guardhouse.

“Hello?”

There was a counter in the corner, a handwritten ‘job openings office’ sign hanging from it. That was probably the place then. A shinigami was sitting behind the counter, idly filing her nails.

Tsuzuki dropped both posters on the counter with a loud thump.

“Shunpo proficiency grade?” she asked, after a cursory glance at the top poster.

“Er,” Tsuzuki said. “What’s that?”

The guard barely stifled a yawn. “Your hohō exam grade.”

Well, that was helpful… not.

“Don’t have one.”

Without looking up, she slid both flyers back towards him with one finger. “Then go put them back on the board.”

Tsuzuki would later deny that the sound he made was a squawk of outrage, but the fact stood: he was not about to be defeated by some _bureaucratic red-tape_ of all things.

“Look, you can’t –” The guard looked up, halfway through her sentence, and Tsuzuki would have laughed at how fast the blood drained from her face, if he wasn’t so busy trying to stop himself from reaching over the counter and strangling her.

“Sh- _shih_ _ōin_ -sama,” the guard stuttered, and almost tripped over her chair trying to struggle to her feet. She bowed deeply, forehead almost hitting the counter.

Deep breaths. _Deep_ breaths. Yelling wasn’t actually going to solve anything. “Obviously, I don’t have an exam grade.” If she recognised him, she’d also know that he was a first year.

The guard winced, and Tsuzuki knew he wasn’t going to like what came out of her mouth next. “G-gotei policy, Shihōin-sama. All requirements listed in the job offer must be met, exactly as they were stated.”

Well, there was only one thing to do then. “Okay, then who’s in charge of the hohō exams?”

The guard blinked, uncomprehendingly, and then jerked when she suddenly realised he’d asked her a question. “That would be, um, Suzuki-sensei.”

“Right, thanks.” He grabbed the two posters, raising a hand in farewell as he wandered out of the guardhouse.

The Teacher’s Office wasn’t hard to find, with the giant sign hanging outside the door. If it was like the kind of staff offices he was used to, students were probably not allowed – but, well. Rapping on the wooden frame sharply, he slid the door open with a, “Sorry to interrupt.”

There weren’t many people in the office, most of them bent over piles of paper on their desks. The nearest of them looked up, smiling tentatively in a way that instantly told him she was probably new. “May I help you?”

 _Hotate Miyako_ , _Advanced_ _Zanjutsu_ , said the little plaque on her desk.

“I’m looking for Suzuki-sensei.”

Very belatedly, he sketched a quick bow, but she didn’t call him out on it.

“Suzuki-sensei’s having a class right now, can I take a message?”

 _Definitely_ new all right. Still, since she was offering –

“I’d like to take the hohō exam.”

Hotate blinked, visibly surprised, but bent over and began rooting through her desk. “Usually students don’t start requesting class advancement tests until later in the semester,” she muttered, seemingly to herself.

“It’s not for class; I need the grade for this job offer.”

She glanced up at the poster he was holding out, and her eyes widened. “Grade eight shunpo? That’s junior seated officer level.”

So _that_ was why Lisa was paying so much for simple message delivery. Still, getting Academy students to run messages was probably going to be cheaper than outsourcing to the Onmitsukidō.

“Why not just ask Suzuki-sensei at the end of your next hohō class?”

“I’m not in Suzuki-sensei’s class.” Point in fact, he didn’t even know whether Suzuki was a man or a woman.

Hotate paused, halfway through scribbling a note. “Suzuki-sensei oversees all the senior hohō classes…” she trailed off, delicately.

Tsuzuki squinted suspiciously, but she looked and sounded perfectly genuine, if a little nervous, like she was trying to figure out how best to break the news to him. Guess he couldn’t fault her, though – it _was_ pretty reasonable to assume that if you weren’t in any of the senior hohō classes, you likely didn’t possess seated officer level shunpo.

“I’m exempt from all hohō classes.”

Hotate blinked, and then her eyes widened in what he hoped was dawning realisation. Tsuzuki heaved a mental sigh of relief. He _really_ didn’t want to use with the phrase “do you know who I am”, like some kind of stereotypical manga villain.

“This way please, Shihōin-dono.” Hotate gestured for him to step into the office. “Director Ōnabora should be able to assist.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You… would like to take the hohō proficiency examinations… to apply for a job.”

Tsuzuki looked from Ōnabora’s bemused face, to Hotate, and then back again. “Well, yeah.” Then something hit him. “Or are first-years not allowed to hold jobs?”

“They are,” Ōnabora said slowly.

“I’ve had to quit the Onmi to come to the Academy –” to be perfectly honest, though, it was more of a leave of absence “– so I don’t get paid any more. And no offence, I love seaweed and curry, but if I had to eat that for the next twelve months I’d probably kill something.”

“I –” Ōnabora stopped, and then seemed to come to a decision. “Yes, certainly, we would be happy to grant special dispensation in this case.” He checked the sheaf of papers on his desk. “In fact, we could hold the exam now, if it would please Shihōin-san.”

That was a pleasant surprise. “Ah, well – how long would it take?”

“Usually, slightly over one period.” Ōnabora paused. “Although, for someone with grade eight proficiency, likely half that time.”

Half a period – so, about an hour. It wasn’t even lunchtime yet, which meant if he hurried, he could even start that afternoon. Surely he was faster than a junior seated officer?

“Now would be great, thanks.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It turned out, they had to leave the Academy to do it.

Tsuzuki peered around in vague interest at what he was pretty sure was part of the First Division’s training grounds. It did look particularly spectacular, smooth paved stone stretching as far as the eye could see.

Well, except for the low walls scattered here and there, each coming up to around mid-chest level.

“The hohō practical exam has three sections,” explained Ōnabora, catching his attention. “First, the amount of time taken to cross ten _chō_ of distance.” He indicated the flag next to where he was standing, and then a flag further in the distance, seemingly about a full kilometre away. “Touch both flags in as short a time period as possible. You may begin any time you wish.”

“Okay,” Tsuzuki answered, and _moved_.

The world around him blurred into the familiar streaks of hyperspeed, but it was an easy run – nothing between him and the goal, just the flagstones under his sandals and the rapidly-growing blob of orange in the distance.

His fingers caught on the flag as he blew past, putting out both hands to stop himself from running headfirst into a tree. He turned around, and Ōnabora and Hotate were jogging up, panting slightly.

 _1_ , proclaimed the flag when Ōnabora tapped it, still out of breath.

Ōnabora stared at it, and then grudgingly wrote down the number on his clipboard.

One… second? No, that couldn’t be right, Soul Society hadn’t switched to minutes and seconds yet. The ancient Japanese method of timekeeping was so complicated that Tsuzuki generally just followed people around instead of trying to remember whether it was the fifth hour or the ninth hour or whatever –

“Next,” Ōnabora indicated a ruler etched onto the stones, “start here at the end marked ‘zero’, and take one single shunpo step.”

Tsuzuki shrugged, striding over to the end of the ruler, and took a step forward.

He looked down, because he was just as curious to know how he measured up, except – he stared down at the smooth stone under his foot, and then twisted around to see that the measurement markings had ended some distance back.

“Oops,” he muttered under his breath, just as Hotate hurried up.

Ōnabora followed at a more sedate pace, looking like he was valiantly fighting off a headache. “With Shihōin-san’s permission, we would like to note it as the maximum distance labelled.”

Tsuzuki looked down again at where he was standing, and then back again at where the markings had stopped, almost a full metre away. “Uh, sure, okay.”

Was shunpo really that hard? He never had any trouble with it, even when he’d been human – it was just a matter of blasting concentrated reiatsu from the soles of his feet while running, and using that like a pressurised cannon to propel himself forwards.

Even _Ishida_ could do it – well, the Quincy version of it, at least. To Tsuzuki, it sounded like the same technique, just with a different name. Although _that_ particular opinion always made Ishida shove his glasses up his nose and mutter darkly about uncivilised knuckleheads and _not the same thing at all, damn it, Kurosaki_.

“Last test.” Ōnabora pointed straight ahead, at the maze of low walls littering the courtyard. “Make your way to the other end.”

An obstacle course? It couldn’t be a test for his sense of direction, not if the walls were so low even someone like Rukia would have no trouble seeing over them, so perhaps they were just there to see how he’d fare if he couldn’t run in a straight line.

Tsuzuki eyed the height of the wall again, thoughtfully, as he settled into a ready stance. Yes, they seem to be just about the right height for –

He put his arms out just as the first wall came up, slapped his palms on the ledge, and _jumped_.

_“The thing about hohō,” Yoruichi was saying, “is that everyone just thinks of shunpo. And that’s a damned useful technique, for sure, but it’s also not the only thing hohō can do.”_

After all, hohō was just the regulated expulsion of concentrated reiatsu from any of the vents all shinigami had all over their bodies. Do it from the soles of the feet while running, and you get shunpo. Do it from the shoulderblades while punching someone, and you get shun _ko_.

A step, turn –

Doing it from the soles of the feet while jumping, though, let him vault easily over walls, especially walls as low as these were.

– another wall –

The last of them was rapidly coming up, and he did a little kick-flip off the wall, turning the vault into a somersault instead of a straight landing. It just felt so _good_ to be able to stretch his legs for once, but this was probably the only decent exercise he’d get for weeks, since he wasn’t in any of the hohō classes.

Tsuzuki shot the obstacle course a mournful look.

“I thought we were supposed to go around the walls, not jump over them,” Hotate was asking Ōnabora as they came jogging up belatedly, circling around the whole courtyard.

Tsuzuki startled. “Eh, but you said this was a hohō exam, not a shunpo exam?” He frowned at the two of them. “So instead of using hohō to move _forwards_ , I used it to jump upwards instead?”

“Indeed.” Ōnabora sighed explosively, and marked something else down on his clipboard. “Shihōin-san is correct: however, the Academy does not teach other applications of hohō, hence Hotate-sensei’s confusion.” He examined the sheet of paper he’d been writing on. “Well, it appears clear to me that Shihōin-san ought to be awarded a hohō proficiency grade of Ten.” He wrote something else down on a different sheet of paper, scribbled what was clearly a signature, and handed that one to Tsuzuki.

It was a simple certificate, already pre-stamped with the Academy seal, and bearing Ōnabora’s signature under ‘examiner’. There was even a handy little chart to explain what the grades meant – grade one through six for Academy students and regular shinigami, seven through nine for seated officers, and grade ten for Inner Court Troop members.

Hm. He wondered if he could get a pay raise.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Reporting for duty, m’am.”

Yadōmaru Lisa gave him a narrow-eyed stare, shoving up her glasses with one hand. With the other, she took the job advert and his hohō certificate, and studied the signature for a long moment.

“Looks to be in order,” she finally said, dropping both onto her overflowing desk and stamping a huge red EIGHT on the advert. “Whole day on Tuesdays and Sundays, and Saturday mornings?”

“Yeah,” Tsuzuki agreed.

Lisa grunted an acknowledgement, and turned to the open door that led to the captain’s office. “OY, LAZY ASS, THE MESSENGER’S HERE!”

Tsuzuki resisted the urge to check if he’d gone temporarily deaf in one ear. He certainly didn’t remember Lisa being so… _loud_.

A very, very dishevelled head popped out from the doorway. “Lisa-chan?” asked Kyōraku, barely stifling a huge yawn, his pink kimono slipping off one shoulder.

“That messenger you wanted,” Lisa repeated, thankfully at a much lower volume, and jabbed a finger at Tsuzuki.

“Oh!” Kyōraku brightened in an instant, darting back into his office and reappearing with a folded sheet of paper. “To the Thirteenth, quickly now!”

Tsuzuki blinked. That was fast – did Kyōraku just keep a bunch of notes on his desk and, what, not send them if he didn’t have a runner that day? So… these weren’t important messages, or something?

Whatever, as long as he got paid.

Clipping the temporary shinigami special access badge to his uniform, Tsuzuki set off at an easy lope through the streets. It was right after the lunch rush, so there was hardly anyone else out and about, just the occasional hawker bustling away, clearing away their roadside stalls.

The gate guards at the Thirteenth barely gave him a second glance when he came jogging up, waving him through. “The captain’s on the back porch,” one of them called down to him, and Tsuzuki raised a hand in thanks.

The Thirteenth Division had a lake in its backyard, supposedly a replica of the one in Ukitake’s residence, Ugendō. A fitting haunt for a man whose zanpakutō was a pair of fish, he supposed. The ‘back porch’ the guard mentioned overlooked the lake, and Ukitake preferred to handle his paperwork there when the weather was favourable.

Guess that was still a habit. Er, would be a habit in a future that would no longer come to pass? _Had_ been a habit?

_War, contrary to all logic, generated ridiculous amounts of paperwork, so much so that the captains spent just about all their time away from the frontlines trying to make a dent in the piles before they grew sentient. Some, like Kenpachi, gave up altogether – last he saw her, Yachiru had been gleefully building paper forts from the stacks._

_Nobody could tell exactly how the back porch of the Thirteenth became the meeting place for pretty much everyone still willing to make the effort, but it did. According to Renji, Nanao was hunting Kyōraku down for his signature when she found him drinking by the lake, and for some reason Tōshirō had been there too, and the next thing he knew, Byakuya was asking him to ferry all new paperwork straight to the Thirteenth._

_Rukia said that Tōshirō had been there because he caught Matsumoto drinking with Kyōraku, and some time in-between commiserating with Nanao and trying to dodge Ukitake’s latest bag of sweets, he realised that he was getting his paperwork done faster, and so he just… never left._

_Hisagi was there, because… something about Seireitei Communications, Ichigo never quite understood that bit, but anyway, just like everyone else, he started bringing all his paperwork to the Thirteenth instead of going at it alone in his office. It helped that Ukitake, or anyone else, really, was always happy to sign off for him, seeing that the Ninth didn’t have a captain anymore._

_That was before they lost Rukia._

The porch looked exactly the same as it did in his time. Tsuzuki blinked away the memories, shoving the ghosts back where they belonged, and rapped sharply on one of the wooden pillars of the porch. “Message from Kyōraku-taichō.”

Ukitake accepted the folded slip with his ubiquitous smile and a nod, glancing over its contents.

“Thank you, Shihōin-san.”

He _knew_ he didn’t manage to control the startled skip in his reiatsu, but Ukitake’s polite smile didn’t falter, even as he set brush to paper and scribbled off a quick reply.

So Ukitake knew who he was. Great. Which meant Kyōraku knew who he was, too, which meant… did _everybody_? Would it matter?

 _Should_ it matter?

Urgh, his head hurt. Whatever, it wasn’t like he could do anything about it.

“Please take this back to the Eighth, Shihōin-san.”

Well, whatever the case, they certainly were making good use of having a dedicated runner.

Lisa waved him into Kyōraku’s office without even a second glance when he arrived, busy pummelling her pile of paperwork into submission. Tsuzuki kept his face deliberately blank as he passed by her desk. He was honestly _surprised_ the papers were still intact.

Kyōraku was slumped over his desk, straw hat shielding his face from the afternoon sun, when Tsuzuki walked in.

“I’m up, I’m up!” Kyōraku yelped, shooting upright in his seat before he could get any nearer, flinching from an invisible blow. “Oh, it’s you.”

“THOSE HAD BETTER ALL BE SIGNED BY THE TIME I GO IN!” Lisa shouted from the outer office.

Tsuzuki decided not to mention the puddle of ink spreading where there _probably_ should have been a signature. He was starting to get why the shinigami needed an entire _class_ for paperwork.

Instead of tackling his paperwork, though, Kyōraku grabbed the note from his hand and unfolded it at a speed completely incongruous with his attitude towards the paperwork. Curious despite himself, Tsuzuki glanced at the note.

_Not unless you want to give your poor lieutenant a coronary. Really now, Shunsui._

Er, what?

It seemed to mean something to Kyōraku, though. He dipped his brush into the inkwell and scribbled a fresh note, in chicken-scratch so unintelligible compared to Ukitake’s casual calligraphy that Tsuzuki didn’t have a hope of reading it upside-down.

“And back you go!”

Tsuzuki sighed inwardly and made off at the same easy lope as before. Now that it was late afternoon, the streets had a fair few more people, hawkers beginning to prepare for the dinner rush, and a couple of

He made it a few more streets before he gave in to temptation.

_Come on, Jū-chan! I’ll even bring my best bottle. You know, the one you really like?_

He could almost _see_ the accompanying leer and eyebrow-waggle. Was Kyōraku _really_ trying to set up a sake party in the middle of the day? And, wait, was this really going to be his job from now onwards? Ferrying notes between Divisions like some elaborate version of _passing notes in class_?

Tsuzuki sweatdropped.

~*~*~*~*~*~

There was an audible drop in volume as he walked into the room.

Tsuzuki resisted the urge to sigh. His core classes hadn’t been so bad, held as they were with upperclassmen who were at least used to a rotating bevy of students in their classes all the time, but his first communal class with his batchmates?

The itch between his shoulder blades followed him as he sat down, and his hand dropped casually under the table before the lack of comforting weight reminded him that he wasn’t carrying any weapons, not even the inert blade he’d been making do with for the past few years.

They had better get their asauchi soon.

He’d purposefully arrived almost exactly on time, so that he didn’t have to deal with the gawking and staring for any longer than he absolutely _had_ to. Oh, most of them probably thought they were being discreet, but the tell-tale pinpricks of _intent_ on his back and the sudden drop in chatter volume made it incredibly obvious.

“Morning, Tsuzuki-san!”

Tsuzuki grunted, dropping into the empty seat next to Hideaki. He’d – well, never _hated_ history, but high school teachers all seem to boast a talent for putting the whole class to sleep. One could only hope Ōnabora didn’t feel the same way.

He spun his brush over his knuckles aimlessly as the lecture began.

The history of Soul Society. Should be pretty similar to Japan history, right?

~*~*~*~*~*~

_You know, I think Kotetsu from my squad really likes that Eighth Seat of yours._

Tsuzuki calmly folded the note back into its original conformation and continued on his way. His face was utterly blank.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Stealth techniques. Otherwise known as the ‘introduction to Onmitsukidō’ class.” Yoruichi spun on her heel, turning a gimlet eye on the students. “The exam, at the end of the year, is optional. Come or don’t come, we don’t care - but if you don’t come, you won’t get into the Onmi. Simple as that.”

“Uhh,” one of the girls crowded into the first row squeaked, raising her hand meekly.

Yoruichi sighed. “If you’re looking for Flower Arrangement, go out the door, turn right, two doors up ahead.” She shook her head in exasperation as various students began stumbling out of the classroom. “Even if our classes are at the same time, _what part_ of me looks like Unohana-taichō?”

“The fact that both of you are terrifying women?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. Tsuzuki ducked his head as Yoruichi’s attention was suddenly fixed on him, expression completely blank in a way that was the precursor to her dishing out some major hurt.

To his surprise, though, she let it go without another word, and launched into an explanation about the roles and responsibilities of the Onmitsukidō instead. He was _very_ familiar with all that already, so why did Kisuke – or Yoruichi, he really couldn’t tell who; or was it _both_ of them? – force him to take this class?

‘ _You still need to train,_ ’ Yoruichi pointed out drily, without pausing in her speech.

“– so, imagine you need to sneak into a house to obtain some important documents. How would _you_ do it?”

The students sent each other furtive looks as she looked away from them.

“Uh, I could use reiatsu to muffle my footsteps?”

Yoruichi’s mouth twisted wryly. “Sadly, no one’s come up with a kidō for that yet. But good try.”

No one at all? Or was it just that Kisuke never saw the need to try?

“Tsuzuki?”

He jumped, and for a moment thought he’d said _that_ out loud – but no. No one was giving him strange looks.

“I’d go by the rafters. Nobody looks up.”

He could see the tiny quirk of her eyebrow that suggested Yoruichi wanted to roll her eyes. “And for the ones who are not aspiring acrobats?”

Tsuzuki gave her a flat stare. “Then I’d take my shoes off.” Straw sandals could be unreasonably loud against wooden tiles, as he discovered… to his detriment.

Yoruichi smirked.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The weekend came around again, far too soon for his liking.

“Hang on.” Lisa thrust a piece of paper at him as he passed by her desk. It looked better today; at least Tsuzuki could see the top of her head behind the stacks now. Maybe it was a Saturday thing. “Give this to Muguruma, will you?” She paused, searchingly, as though trying to determine from his face whether he knew who she was talking about. “The captain of the Ninth.”

Muguruma Kensei?

Tsuzuki hadn’t realised the Visoreds knew each other… well, _before_.

Well, at least it gave him a bit of a break from bouncing between the Eighth and the Thirteenth like a yo-yo, facilitating a conversation about – he flicked the note open – really? _Seriously_? Today’s topic was the freshness of the fish at whatever restaurant they went to last night? Did Kyōraku really have nothing better to do?

That one could probably wait. Tsuzuki shoved the offending note into his pocket and turned down the street to the Ninth instead.

Kensei wasn’t in his office when Tsuzuki got there; in fact, there was a distinct lack of people as he walked through the Division grounds. Maybe they were all in the dojo or something.

Wondering if he should go track Kensei down or just leave the note on his desk, he opened Lisa’s note.

_Same time tonight?_

Well, that wasn’t confusing at all.

He’d better go find Kensei, though. Lisa seemed to be expecting a reply. Tsuzuki squinted and _focused_ , stretching his senses out –

Okay. This wasn’t going to work out. Red spirit ribbons spilled across the floor, a sprawling mess so dense he couldn’t even see the tatami mats under his feet. There must’ve been a full-on _stampede_ in Kensei’s office earlier for there to be so many spirit ribbons tangled all over the place; what _happened_? He prodded hopefully at several of the ribbons, but – nope. No luck, none of them held Kensei’s reiatsu.

These all seem to be leading in the same direction, though. Maybe something had happened and needed the captain’s immediate attention?

Tsuzuki vaulted out of the window, headed where the spirit ribbons had pointed out. As he continued along the path, what had been a faint buzz of noise in his ear soon grew to a dull roar, and as he neared this particular cluster of buildings in the distance he could pick out the distinct ‘gari-gari’ sound of an old-style printing press.

Oh, right. The Ninth was in charge of the _Seireitei Communication_ magazine, wasn’t it?

The scent of ink hung heavy in the air as he circled around the buildings, looking for the entrance. It sounded like half the Division was in there, overlapping waves of reiatsu crashing like tides against his own – and… from the frustration everyone was broadcasting, things were not going well.

When Tsuzuki found him, Kensei was standing outside the entrance, his arms folded. There were some tottering stacks of magazines beside him, each nearly to his waist. Through the door, he could see the gariban chugging away, ink drums beating frantically, and… faintly smoking.

“Message for you from – Yadōmaru-fukutaichō.” Tsuzuki bit his tongue before the _Lisa_ could automatically slip out, hoping Kensei had been too busy staring at the printing press to notice the slip.

“Hm.”

Kensei unfolded the note, giving the three words far more attention than Tsuzuki thought it was due. Finally, he sighed and crumpled it into a ball. “I’ve no paper on me; will you carry a voice message?”

Tsuzuki blinked. “I suppose?”

“Tell Lisa, only if we get to pick the place this time. Mashiro’s heard good things about this bar in Hokutan.”

A bar? _Another_ sake party? Why were all his friends alcoholics?!

“Got it.”

Kensei raised a hand, signalling that he wasn’t done yet. With a short sigh, he added grudgingly, “and only if we can get this week’s issue delivered on time.”

As though hearing his words, the printing press belched out a helpful splutter of smoke.

The captain sighed deeply, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Very deliberately, Tsuzuki kept his eyes on him, and not at the piles of magazines scattered on the ground.

“Hang on,” Kensei suddenly said, as Tsuzuki was about to leave.

“Hmm?”

“You’re Kyōraku’s errand-boy, right? What’s your shunpo grade?”

Tsuzuki eyed him suspiciously. “Er… ten.”

Kensei narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t look disbelieving. “Ten, hmm? And Mashiro just happens to be on leave today…” he muttered to himself, like he was trying to talk himself into something. Tsuzuki suddenly had a very bad feeling.

“Lisa still owes me a favour,” he said, abruptly. “Five hundred kan if you can get all of these delivered before lunch break starts.”

Tsuzuki’s eyebrows shot up. That was… more than double of what Lisa was paying him. Five hundred could get him a really good dinner at a proper restaurant, or around a week’s worth of food from the commissary. And two hours for twelve divisions was definitely doable, if he took the rooftops.

He stuck out his hand.

“Deal.”

~*~*~

The first batch had to be to the Eighth, so that Tsuzuki can explain to Lisa about the deal.

Oh, and the sake.

Surprisingly, Lisa didn’t make any strange comments about Kensei stealing him, so much so that Tsuzuki was tempted to check if she was really okay behind that tottering pile of papers.

“Tell Kensei first round’s on him.”

Or it might be the idea of free alcohol speaking, yeah.

Kyōraku popped his head out from his office, looking as dishevelled as ever. “Aw, why did you deliver Lisa-chan’s message first?”

“Because she’s the one signing my paycheck,” Tsuzuki said truthfully. “Sir.”

~*~*~

He did drop off Kyōraku’s note at the Thirteenth on his delivery route, but thankfully Ukitake took pity on him and didn’t give him a return message.

Three down, nine to go. Most of the divisions ordered so many copies that he could barely carry them all in a single trip, but maybe there were some orders he could combine…

That inattention almost cost him as he was crossing the street, and only his reflexes saved him from bowling someone over.

“Sorry!”

He took a few more steps, about to leap for the nearest roof, before suddenly snapping his head back.

Wait.

Wasn’t that…

 _Huh_.

~*~*~

Thankfully, Seireitei Communications wasn’t a door-to-door delivery. All he actually needed to do, was to drop them off at the front office in every division. Which was… usually the vice-captain’s office.

“SeireiComm delivery,” Tsuzuki deadpanned, dumping his armload of magazines onto the table. This stack was so tall that he was navigating the room entirely by feel, and so it took him a moment before –

“Okay, no, what are _you_ doing here?! You’re definitely not the vice-captain of the Second, what the _hell_.”

Kisuke blinked at him. Looked at the perilous stack of magazines now taking up the rest of the available space on his – _the_ desk, it definitely wasn’t _his_ desk, Tsuzuki should’ve heard if he’d gotten a promotion.

Right?

“Paperwork,” Kisuke answered, after a length pause. His tone was exceedingly dry.

Tsuzuki dropped his head into his now-free hands and scrubbed them through his hair. “I can see that,” he snapped. “Isn’t that Marenoshin’s job?”

Kisuke gave a sort of a half-shrug, spinning the topmost sheet on the pile around so that Tsuzuki could read the official-looking document, and tapped a brush pointedly on the title. “Nobody with any sense would trust an Ōmaeda with _budget review_.”

That… was probably a fair point.

Though, out of sheer morbid curiosity… “Speaking from past experience?”

Kisuke tipped his head to the side, waving a hand vaguely in a way that could either mean _past_ (future?) experience, or just past experience. “Peacocks strutting through the yard, silk undershirts for all seated officers, 999-carat gold-plated toilet bowls, and toilet paper pressed from eucalyptus trees?”

What?

He might have vocalised that, but Kisuke clearly took it as the rhetorical interjection it was meant to be, and didn’t deign to answer. Instead, he dropped his cheek onto one palm, propping it on the table, and fixed Tsuzuki with a sardonic look.

“I didn’t know there were eucalyptus trees in Japan.”

“There aren’t,” Kisuke said flatly.

Luckily, he was saved from having to respond to that by the door of the inner office creaking open. “I thought I heard the lovely dulcet tones of my favourite heir!” cooed Yoruichi, coming out of her office.

“Yoruichi-sama!” yelped Suì-Fēng from somewhere inside the office as the door closed behind Yoruichi. “These papers –”

“I’m your _only_ heir,” Tsuzuki grumbled under his breath. From the way Yoruichi drove her shoulder into him as she passed by, she heard it anyway.

“And delivery boy for the magazine this week, it seems.” Kisuke nodded at the stack currently duelling for space with the paperwork, threatening to knock over his inkpot at any moment.

Yoruichi wandered over and picked the top one up.

“You subscribe?” Tsuzuki hadn’t thought Yoruichi would be the kind… then again, in his time half the lieutenants and captains had their own columns, so maybe it was a Gotei requirement.

“No, but Suì-Fēng does,” she said absently, flipping through the pages. “Why are you running errands for the Ninth?”

Tsuzuki blinked. Why would the _head_ of Seireitei’s intelligence network be asking him that, when he hadn’t been hiding what he was doing… he’d even met an Onmitsukidō messenger – the ones for whom Grade Ten shunpo was _actually_ a requirement – headed in the opposite direction just earlier, so they couldn’t possibly be asking about his part-time job, could they?

He looked from Kisuke – slumped in his seat, politely attentive – to Yoruichi – peering at him in vague interest.

Right. Masks.

“Shunpo practice.”

~*~

Through the closed door, he heard Kisuke say, distinctly, “Yoruichi-san, I think we’ve created a monster.”

Yoruichi’s laughter accompanied him all the way out.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tsuzuki wasn’t quite sure why he was in fourth year advanced kidō, to be honest. Sixth year advanced zanjutsu and hakuda, those he understood, but why the _fourth_ year _advanced_ kidō class?

Class was in full swing by the time he found the correct practice courtyard, and he stuck his head in cautiously. It was a pretty big class, hopefully the teacher wouldn’t have noticed he’d been missing until now.

A spark of light out of the corner of his eye made him duck, reflexively, and not a moment too soon as _something_ hit the wall next to his head. He tilted his head up instinctively, tracking its movement, just in time to see the beam of light – some stray kidō? – _ricochet_ off the wall.

Wait.

Was that _Fushibi_?

How the _hell_ did that guy get that level twelve spell to _ricochet_? Tsuzuki could distinctly remember Hinamori using it all the time – it had been one of her favourite combo moves – and it was just a straight beam of orange/red light, nothing like… whatever that was going on here.

He watched as the redirected Fushibi headed unerringly for someone’s head.

“Look out!”

Without bothering to look at it, Morino-sensei swatted the stray kidō aside, like it was just a particularly bothersome housefly.

Tsuzuki’s mouth might have been open.

“What’s the highest kidō you’ve done, boy?”

It took him a few moments to realise that Morino was talking to _him_ – the old man still hadn’t turned around fully,

“Er… eighty?”

Morino _snorted_. Actually snorted. “Bah. Nobody cares about Danku.” He shook his head, stomping over. “Your highest _destructive_ spell, boy!”

It took some effort for Tsuzuki not to shrink back, despite the fact that Morino was like half his height and looked like a strong breeze could knock him over. “Raikōhō?” What number was that again, sixty? Sixty-five?

He couldn’t actually tell his Academy teacher that his highest was actually eighty-eight, could he?

Morino harrumphed loudly. “Show me.”

Surreptitiously, Tsuzuki glanced around, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them. Then again, someone seemed to have lit a target on fire on the other side, with a… binding spell?!

Holy gods.

It was like having a class full of Renjis, but _worse_.

“Well?” demanded Morino.

“Err, sprinkled on the bones of the beast!” Tsuzuki thrust out his palm towards the nearest row of targets against the wall. Hopefully they were as reinforced as they seemed. Now how did the rest of the chant go again… “Ash tower, yellow crystal, steel ring. Move and become and the wind, stop and become the calm. The sound of warring swords fills the empty castle!” He paused for a moment, gathering the surge of reiatsu in his palm, feeling the power coalesce. “Raikōhō!”

It didn’t matter if he skipped incanting the hadō number, right? Everyone used to do it all the time when it came to Shakkahō, even Renji. Now he kind of wished that he’d practised this one a bit more, but he hadn’t been expecting to _need_ it. The Academy didn’t normally teach kidō over level fifty, according to literally everybody.

Ah well.

The Thunder Cannon left his palm with its customary crackle of lightning, slamming into the target with a concussive force so great that Morino-sensei took a step back, and even Tsuzuki had to lift a hand to shield his eyes from the blast.

The target was gone, along with the four next to it.

Oooops.

“Er, my apologies, Morino-sensei,” he began, but Morino cut over him almost immediately.

“Nonsense!” A glowing notebook appeared out of nowhere, and Morino began scribbling in it. “The changes to the incantation, you did them deliberately?”

He… changed the incantation?

Oh crap, did he remember it wrong?

“Not deliberately,” decided Morino, after a long look at his face, and then bent back down to scribble some more.

Tsuzuki had a very bad feeling about this class.

~*~

“What is _up_ with Morino?” hissed Tsuzuki to Hideaki, once they were out of the class. That guy honestly reminded him a little of Kisuke in one of his research moods, with the maniacal glint and the frantic scribbling and the tendency to forget Tsuzuki was standing right there.

Hideaki blinked back, like he found all of it perfectly ordinary and not at all the slightest bit disturbing. “Hm, Morino-sama?”

“Yeah, what’s with the –” he gave a half-shrug, spreading his arms out, like that could adequately explain the insanity.

“This is the fourth year advanced kidō class,” Hideaki replied, as if that was any explanation at all.

“So?”

Hideaki frowned at him, like he couldn’t decide if Tsuzuki was pulling his leg. “So everyone’s got too much reiatsu and not enough control?”

Oh.

Well, that would explain why he was in this class.

“Still, I can’t believe they let you learn _Raikōhō_ ,” Hideaki was saying with no small amount of envy. “Your mentor must really have trusted you not to blow yourself up.”

“He was a good teacher,” Tsuzuki agreed, because if there was one thing that could be said about Urahara Kisuke, it was that he knew how things _worked_. Tsuzuki might not always get the results he wanted from his kidō, but he’d never been in any danger of blowing himself up.

Also, apparently Morino was a retired veteran who’d spent over a century in the Kidō Corps, and now that the only thing he needed to do was chase some brats around twice a week, he was free to pursue all the kidō-crafting experiments he’d always wanted to do but never had the time for.

And the fourth year advanced kidō class… reading between the lines of what Hideaki was rambling on about, they were his _inspiration_.

Go figure.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Please hold on a moment, Shihōin-san.”

He was becoming frightfully inured to these interruptions during his thrice-weekly gopher trips. It seemed like everybody in Seireitei either outranked Kyōraku, or was friends with Lisa, or otherwise wanted to call in a favour.

Whatever. Money was money.

“Yeah?”

The elderly man who had stopped him bowed slightly. He wasn’t wearing a captain’s haori or a lieutenant’s badge, just the standard shinigami uniform, but he looked somewhat familiar. “I am Okikiba Genshirō, the Third Seat of the First.”

That explained the lack of a ranking insignia, and also why he was bold enough to stop Tsuzuki in the middle of the street, before he’d even _gotten_ to the Eighth. It wasn’t like Kyōraku could pull rank on _Yamamoto_.

“By order of the Sōtaichō, these notes are to be delivered to every captain.”

What was he now, a courier service?

Tsuzuki took the stack of notes, but the little pouch Okikiba dropped onto his palm was a pleasant surprise.

The contents jingled. “For payment for services rendered,” Okikiba explained, nodding regally at him, and then left without checking if Tsuzuki agreed.

Well, seemed like he had no choice. Tsuzuki hefted the pouch. That was a _lot_ more money than he was used to. Guess he’d better run?

Though… what could be important enough that the Head Captain would engage the services of a runner, but not be important enough to warrant a Hell Butterfly or confidential enough for an Inner Court Troop messenger?

He peeked into one of the notes.

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE HEAD CAPTAIN _,_ it began, in large bold letters.

This is a gentle reminder to all captains that the grounds of the First Division are considered private property, and all trespassers with no prior declared purpose shall be prosecuted.

And then, at the bottom, a single line: “STOP DIGGING HOLES IN MY LAWN, YOU IMBECILES.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Hotate Miyako introduced herself as a zanjutsu instructor, Tsuzuki hadn’t expected her to mean the _sixth year advanced class_ zanjutsu instructor. Or that she was apparently a seated officer in the Thirteenth, on loan at the Academy for a few years before going back into the field.

He did get more than a few raised eyebrows when the other students caught sight of the wooden bokken slung over his back, and that more than anything made him stand out.

Seemed like it wasn’t just ‘live steel permitted’, it was more like ‘live steel mandatory’.

Hotate pursed her lips when she too noticed his wooden practice sword, but she didn’t call attention to it, probably because she knew the first-years couldn’t have gotten their asauchi yet. The unknowing students weren’t as kind.

Tsuzuki tuned out all the whispered comments, ranging from _did that guy seriously bring a piece of wood to a real fight_ , to _man I’d hate to be paired with him, I’d be so worried about hurting him the whole time_ ,  and of course the ever-popular _what’s a guy like him doing here?_

Nobody seemed to have cottoned on that he wasn’t just new to this _class_ , he was new to the _school_.

Hotate darted nervous looks in his direction, and after seeing Tsuzuki was happy to slump against a wall without retaliating against any of them, she seemed to heave a rather audible sigh of relief.

“For the returning students, you all know how this goes,” she opened without preamble. “For the newcomers, it’s quite simple: everyone picks a sparring partner at the start of each class, and the goal is to have all of you practise against everyone else at least once by the end of the year.”

As though responding to some invisible cue, the students began drifting into pairs.

Tsuzuki wasn’t even surprised when no one came towards him. Unfortunately, there seemed to be an even number of students in the class, and it wasn’t long before one student realised he had no other choice.

“Kanō Ashido-san,” introduced Hotate, who’d apparently caught on to the same problem and had come towards them.

Tsuzuki bowed properly, successfully cutting her off before she could introduce him by full name. “Tsuzuki,” he said, deliberately omitting his family name. Ashido bowed back, looking politely attentive, but not interested enough to ask about it.

Hotate blinked, but left them well alone to go check on the other pairs.

“Shall we warm up?” asked Ashido, in the same polite manner. Without waiting for an answer, he drew his own katana, settling into the opening stance of whatever kata he was using.

About to do the same, Tsuzuki _paused_.

Ashido hadn’t been a captain or a lieutenant in the future for sure, but those movements – they were horribly familiar, and Tsuzuki couldn’t figure out _why_. He had a memory for fighting styles, but definitely not for someone he’d only ever met once in passing, so he must have spent a few _days_ at least with this Kanō Ashido, but he just couldn’t recall anyone by that name.

Maybe he’d been – would be? – part of the Eleventh? He did spend an awful lot of time sparring with everyone there while waiting for everyone to recover from their injuries after rescuing Rukia, and he’d never learnt most of their names.

Tsuzuki put it out of his mind as Ashido came at him, sword brandished. If it was important, he’d probably remember later.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“If you can pick me up a bento lunch – anything with chicken will do – I’ll toss in an extra fifty kan.”

Tsuzuki eyed Lisa suspiciously. He _knew_ she couldn’t have let him off half an hour early out of the kindness of her own heart.

“Any place will do?” he confirmed.

“Yeah.” Lisa scribbled another signature, not bothering to look up at him. “Why, you got a place in mind?”

Actually, now that he thought about it… “How about the one on the intersection of Fifth and Seventh? Their food’s pretty good.” The advantages of having a part-time job that fed him: two hours of delivering orders, and he get to pick anything he wanted, either at the start or at the end.

Lisa put down her brush. The look on her face was undecipherable. “Aren’t they closed right now?”

Tsuzuki shrugged, because he was sure the chef would’ve been done cooking by now, so that his employees could eat before the whole lunchtime rush if they wanted to. “I’m sure the old man wouldn’t mind me starting a little early.”

“Starting,” Lisa repeated. “You… work there?”

He hesitated. There was nothing in the charter that expressively forbade him from taking on a second part-time job if the timings didn’t clash, nothing he could remember that would put _that_ look on Lisa’s face. “Yes?”

Lisa didn’t say anything else for a long moment.

“Well, yes, that place is fine.”

“Oookay.”

Well, that was weird. But then, pretty much all of _Soul Society_ was weird.

Tsuzuki put it out of his mind.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Tsuzuki wandered out of history class, so deep in thought that he almost missed Akira calling his name.

“Still half-asleep?” the other boy teased. Tsuzuki pretended not to notice the scandalised look Hideaki instinctively shot him.

Well, he hadn’t been sleeping, not really.

He’d been thinking.

Ironically, it _was_ sparked by the contents of the lecture. Ōnabora had been talking about the era of the clan wars before the time of the Gotei, when the lands were as much ravaged by warfare as they were by the rampaging of Hollows going unchecked.

A pretty bedtime story of a time long past, perhaps, but Tsuzuki glimpsed _potential_.

As his physics teacher used to say, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Aizen was a megalomaniac, drunk on power and twisted by a consuming desire for change. What could be greater inspiration for such a madman, than past events? Glorious battles. Senseless slaughter. Legal loopholes. Shortcuts and precedents. History was full of these little tidbits, if one knew how to carefully unravel the sugar-coated explanations they were fed.

It would take time, oh yes, but they had nothing _but_ time.

Not to mention, his twin was probably bored to death without something intellectual to do, tilling the farm all day long or whatever it was that he did. Analysis might be a boring and probably thankless job, but as Yukimaru had proven, he’d _definitely_ inherited Ichigo’s brains.

And Kurosaki Ichigo had been top five in his year, before all the nonsense with the Winter War and the Fullbringers and the _Wandenreich_ popping up all over, someone who’d been well on his way to securing a place at Todai.

He’d even wanted to be a doctor, back before – everything.

That was the reasoning he would give Yukimaru for dumping this job on him, Tsuzuki decided.

Of course, there was a much, much simpler reason why Yukimaru would be the one to pore over volumes of tiny print and notes taken in a nearly illegible hand: no matter how convinced he was about its necessity, history really was a very boring subject.

He snickered at the imagined look of abject horror on Yukimaru’s face.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Lisa waited until the locator chip in the badge had buzzed, signifying that Shihōin Tsuzuki had left the division grounds, before spinning around in her chair.

As she’d expected, Kyōraku was leaning against the doorjamb, looking as dishevelled as ever, but a good deal less sleepy than he did a few minutes prior.

“Talk to me, Lisa-chan.”

She sighed.

Where to even begin?

The Eighth put up that job advert every year, as an unofficial avenue of scouting for potential future seated officers for both themselves and the Thirteenth.

Either they totally hit jackpot this year, or the plan completely backfired on them.

“He’s the strangest noble I’ve ever met,” she admitted. There was no need to specify who the ‘he’ meant.

Who’d ever heard of a _Great House_ noble, much less the _clan heir himself_ , doing menial labour?

And he was doing it _properly_ , too, no cutting corners or deliberately walking very slowly; he didn’t use his full speed for most of the notes, but Lisa really couldn’t fault him for that – Inner Court Troop messenger speed was just complete overkill for the notes they’ve been passing around.

Why was he trying so hard? What was in it for him? The money?

It would’ve been a laughable prospect, except according to Ukitake’s third seat, who was on rotation at the Academy, he actually ate the commissary food every day. And not the kind you paid for, which was barely tolerable – the _free_ stuff, the kind Lisa wouldn’t eat even if you gave it to her for free.

Either his tastebuds were all burnt off, or he _really_ didn’t have that kind of cash.

A month ago, Lisa would have _laughed_ at the idea, maybe shared it as a joke during one of their sake parties, but now… now she wasn’t so sure. And by the look of things, the other divisions were starting to catch on.

“I think,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, “when he graduates, we should offer him a position.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone actually interested: A day was divided into two sections, one running from sunrise to sunset and the other from sunset to (the next) sunrise. Each section was further divided into six ‘hours’ named 6, 5, 4, 9, 8, 7 (in that order). Since obviously the length of the day changed depending on the time of the year, the length of an ‘hour’ also changed. A ‘minute’ was 1/100 of a day – so, around 14.5 minutes, and a ‘second’ (which was what the flags were counting) was 1/60 of a ‘minute’ – so, around 15 seconds.
> 
> Obviously Tsuzuki was confused as heck.
> 
> Tsuzuki’s actual speed during the exam was about 300 m/s. This number was calculated from manga canon (Chapter 555, when Ichigo said he’d take 12 hours to get from the SK Palace to SS, which puts his max speed at 455 m/s). Unfortunately for him, the flags don’t show decimal points.
> 
> An average seated shinigami reaches around 100 m/s.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr ID: starriewolf. I hope this complies with AO3's new no-links allowed policy.


End file.
